Khaat knew her father rarely ever got too much to drink. He wasn't that intoxicated. He was just relaxed. He had had a good time, and he had been able to simply forget about everything for a few hours, eat Mexican fiesta party foods, listen to mariachi bands, and just relax. She was glad for him.
"You never took me to a fiesta," she told Brian. He looked at her.
"Every time I take you out, we roll under a car or find some other sort of death trap," he said sarcastically. "I'll build you any sort of getaway you want at home."
"That thing brain damaged you," she scowled, unhappy.
"My brain works just fine," he said to her, leaning back and closing his eyes.
"You'd better get this resolved before we have our next six kids," she told him, deliberately baiting him.
"We said two more," he said. "Not six. I will not be doing fourteen kids of our own. I love you, but that's not happening. Ten is my max."
"You really didn't think he'd screw that up, did you?" Kate laughed.
"Just testing," Khaat said. "Marcus, get the jar, would you?"
"Um...I would, but what am I doing with it?"
"I'm taking it downstairs to my cabin."
"Are you sure that's wise?" he asked.
"I need to," she said. She stood up. He picked up the jar.
"Khaat," Brian said seriously, "You be careful with that thing. Marcus, do not let her get in over her head. If she gets in too deep, take that damned jar and get it out of her room, no matter what she says. Do I need to make an order out of that?"
"No," Marcus said. The two of them headed down below deck.