You wouldn't have thought this group of men were practically at each other's throats just fifteen minutes ago. Erskine was torn between either pointing that fact out, and probably starting the arguments all over again, or - God help him - actually joining in. Yes, he technically started it, but he'd never meant for it to go this far.

In the end, he decided in favour of the latter, if only because Ghastly was rolling his eyes. "I was a weaver, you know," he pointed out, deliberately petulant. "My dress-sense is perfectly fine, thank you very much, and you - " Erskine swung the pointing finger towards Solomon, " - don't know your type. Are you sure you aren't just intimidated? I can be gentle."

"Eau de Vex," Ghastly murmured, ignoring those comments. "To be fair, Dexter, just because I've never expressed dislike for the way you dress doesn't mean I haven't wondered occasionally what on earth you were thinking."