"What made you stop then?" Maalech actually looked interested in the answer for once. Perhaps it was the drinks, perhaps it was the desperation talking, but he was curious.

About Morgan.

"I knew of your teacher, for being of the Order he was a skilled man. As you say you clearly talked about these matters..." and more than that, liked talking about them. "What made you give it up? That part of you?"

"He died."

Morgan shrugged some, "He died and I just... couldn't be arsed anymore. They wanted to take me back to the towers, root out his heretic ideals or cover them up with things they liked. Turn me into a hero or prove that they were the ones who made Jack dan Glokta a great mage. Make me into this thing that would go out and prove how great and noble they were."

"Yeah, way to stick it to 'em, Morgan. Like a fucking child." He pulled his flask from his hip pocket before stowing it again.

"And I just... never found poeple who wanted to do more than regurgitate the Order's base teachings about one thing or another or who thought reading all those books made you a sissy. So it was either give up or bore myself to tears running the same things 'round in my head." Morgan shrugged at Maalech then, "You may not credit it now, but I'm the Melekain of giving up."

That actually brought a snort that might have been a laugh from the man. "We all give up, in our own way. Focus on things we can accomplish to the exclusion of other matters. Had the war not decided for me, the same might have happened to me. The Weavers were no less wrapped in tradition, traditions I was only barely allowed to be a part of. Were it not for Indhra..."

The thought was amusing, the alcohol made everything seem like a twisted joke.

"I hated the man, but I owe him much. He did not deserve that end."

"Nope. He didn't. But we don't get the ones we deserve. We get the ones we get."

Maalech had all but said as much earlier.

Morgan shrugged and looked at the man, "With luck we'll go out better, eh? You, a million years old with a beautiful Power-That-Be and me with my gaggle of busty redheads."

"I thought you was swearing off redheads for the future?" Maalech chuckled, shaking his head. "It is futile to ponder. I will settle for getting through tomorrow unscathed. Redheads..."

He grimaced, then asked "Make sure that she does not kill me. That would be most appreciated."

"Yeah, but by that time, I'll be too old and senile to care." The man thumped his chest a bit, "I'm still mostly not falling apart. I'll settle for that keeping up another hour." He chuckled a bit as if he intended to fight the man for who would settle for the least in life.

And to the last, the man smiled, "I won't. She got too close for my comfort last time. I'll try and hold her off you. She'll... she'll be okay, though. I think."

Wow, that was a load of bullshit said with a straight face. He should get another bottle of that stuff.

"It was not even an attempt. I simply think she misjudged the fragility of my body. She lashed out..." Pain. She had intended to hurt.

And he had been unable to stop her. A sobering thought.

"We will see I suppose. Tomorrow if she is alright. There is no need to put it off."

Morgan nodded, "Works for me. I'll make sure I remember." The man tapped the side of his head a couple times as if to demonstrate before getting to his feet and, after a moment's wobbling, stretching. "Want me to get you home, Mal? I've gotta make sure Aly hasn't gone crazy with the kids or anything."

"No, I'm fine. I'll sit here for a moment longer. I am not that drunk, and not rich enough to rob." Maalech gave Morgan an amused look.

Skin deep only.

"Tomorrow then."

Morgan nodded, offered another shrug and after taking an unsure step, he just wasn't there any more.