[Having opted for something undeniably summer suitable rather than her preferred coat, Scintilla dropped to sit next to Amal with next to no warning--finishing off an appropriately festive hot dog in a sizeable bite and extending a second to him in offering.]

Any clue what this one's celebratin', or we just settin' shite off like an average night of drinkin' in Limsa? Not that you'll hear me complain either way.