Fetch is an underrated game. Sometime between drinking half a bottle and coming up with no new solutions to their problems, he'd taken to seeing how much dog was really in a hellhound. As it turned out, they have one thing in common. He's not sure how many times he threw the stick and watched as it dutifully returned it in its gaping maw, but there's an unmistakable amusement in seeing something so terrifying getting such wholesome exercise.

Maybe he should keep it around.

And maybe it's his fault that both of their guards are down when the attack comes. One moment Five is smirking when the hound jumps to catch a particularly bad throw over its head, and the next its body is cleanly separated from it as a blade slices cleanly through it. Five reacts immediately, shouting much louder than he should when the body lands, but whoever threw the blade wisely sticks to the shadows. Then he hears all the telltale signs that he's surrounded, and any doubt of what they're after dissipates.

It was a matter of time before they went after Messalina's supporters. He spares a glance at the corpse of the hound, still twitching. His jaw clenches, and through the haze of alcohol he can feel the familiar light of rage. They won't live to regret that.