"Percy is fine. Were the rest of my party here, they'd have already established that. I suppose I've become lax." The glasses were clean - like everything here excepting the blood out in the lobby. The bottle was sealed. Percy approved.

He adjusted his things on the ground next to him, Bad News in its folded state and Animus still within easy reach on his hip. He was low on ammunition. He'd have to discover where MacCready got his black powder for making his.

"Percival is also acceptable, as is de Rolo." Other nicknames came to mind - Freddie, Whitey, darling - but he felt no compulsion to share them.