Theresa chuckled. "Toff," she shot back, one of Modal’s favorite expressions for someone putting on airs. (They know each other well, then, Sly realized. I’ll have to ask her about that.) Smeland handed Modal a pint of draft, and he wandered off to sit with a couple of orks who Sly didn’t recognize. Not Armadillo regulars. She mentally selected the microphone closest to that table.