When Athos spread his hands wide in surrender, a grinning Porthos stood. He cleared his throat and raised his own glass of Scotch--not his favorite, but Athos always found the good stuff. Then adjusted his durag. Then took a sip.

Then finally raised the glass up and said: "To two years out of the boring hell-hole that is tje Paris Desk. And to two years of fuck-ugly tattoos to mark the date. All for one."