When Horn arrives at that modest Highbury pub, it's already packed. Over a dozen people's heads, Bagpipe waves vigorously to her, jostling half her pint out of the glass before she even makes it all the way over. Once she does, Bagpipe pushes it into Horn's hands, turns, orders a new one, and pours that one straight down the hatch. Her face is ruddy red and altogether sweaty. She's been helping out no small amount here, Horn can tell. 'Y'know Robben? This is his relative, proper handy, you can just smell the fresh grain off the tipple he brews. Makes you feel all warm inside,' Bagpipe says glowingly. 'C'mon, Leader, try some.' Horn stares down at the mellow golden liquid. Just as warm as every other color in this bar. Londinium's past the worst of scarcity, but the workers still use curtains and tablecloths from their own homes to decorate this place out of sheer habit. The pub reopening means a lot to the neighborhood. Real proof that they have their livelihoods back, and a place to drop by after clock-out too. Once the music starts up, Bagpipe tugs a dumbstruck Horn to come along. Bagpipe's kilt is long and flowing and gorgeous as she spins, aglow like a daffodil, like the paraffin lamp by your bedside. It makes Horn conscious of how she's not in uniform either. Her white pencil skirt was rummaged out of her old wardrobe from her academy days. Still fits, but she feels so strange in it. Like two empty hands missing their sword and shield. 'Leader, move your body a bit! No one's goin' tae laugh at ye.' Bagpipe thinks she's embarrassed. 'Look, just follow ma rhythm now, it isnae hard at all!' <i>What rhythm?</i> Horn can't help but crack up at that. If skipping to the beat were a class, Fiona Young'd be losing every last mark. Returning to the counter, Horn once again picks up the pintglass Bagpipe got her, and in one fell swoop, downs it. 'Tastes wonderful,' she grins. 'To Robben.' 'To Robben,' Bagpipe echoes. 'And to Abigail, and to Henderson, and to Gwen...' Horn sets the empty glass down. 'Gwen. Hah. What was it, that ale? The one Cello loved more than anything in the whole wide land?' By the time they leave the bar, Horn's walking on much slower legs. With a gust of the evening wind, she makes her way to the curbside, and stoops down low. 'Leader? Och, go on, chuck it up. You'll feel better for it.' Horn shakes her head, but her shoulders are tensing up anyway. Picking up on something silent, Bagpipe lifts her hand away before it can land on Horn's back, and opts to places it on her shoulder instead. Horn finally raises her head again. Quite unlike Bagpipe would've imagined, her mouth curls up, and her eyes are aglitter. 'Bagpipe, they came out with my test results. My wounds are more or less recovered, and I didn't get Oripathy.' Bagpipe grins back. She lifts Horn up, and the two amble together down the still and quiet street. 'We're so lucky, you and I,' Bagpipe says. 'Yeah.' Drawing a deep breath, Horn looks out at the faraway city walls, and the warm lights above it that faintly swim into view. 'So lucky.'