Sliding back up from where he had ducked behind the back of the chair at Locke's warning, Weiler laughed as he took the glass of champagne from the man's fingers. "Cheers."

The glass was better suited to wine drinking than a champagne flute was, wider and more standard-issue, picked up at one of the houseware stores around the area. The champagne itself was fragrant but not exactly the expensive stuff that they would pass around in Wallabin's office as consolation prizes for having to work over the holidays.

But this was the best New Year's Eve yet.

Weiler drew his legs up onto the seat, bending them at the knee and tucking them close to his body as he swirled the drink in his cup and then proceeded to down half of it in one go. It was a pale purple color, indicative of Ennaspiean local drinks, and the plentiful amount of fizz made a person warm and light as it went down.

He turned to watch Locke out of the corner of his eye as the man drank as well and, with a smile, teased, "Don't overdo it, Rhys."