"…Then she gazed into her vomit until she found out the cause," Spade finished a particularly hideous story about their life on the high seas.
Whiteman had laughed so much that his rash had received a moderate amount of extra blood from his lively circulation. He was now redder than ever. He still seemed to have a chuckle left in him, but Serenica began to fear he'd drink himself to death. She had to keep an eye on him.
"Relax and have some more," John said, noticing her worried expression. "A drop of rum never killed nobody!"
"That is blatantly untrue, my good fellow," Whiteman said. "I can dig up plenty of cases where a single drop of rum has resulted in an ultimately lethal binge and -"
"And you should dig them up and examine whether you might become a case study if you go on like this!" someone roared from another table.
Serenica turned and saw the Admiral, somber and most likely sober as well, staring at her murderously.
