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“One hun—”
“No, you’ve gotta sing it!”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“That’s not a good reason.”
“It’s the spirit of it?”
Harper had convinced Trance to join him in enjoying his stockpiled good beer. They’d been drinking slowly (Harper) and steadily (Trance) since, at least until he’d tried teaching her a traditional song of his people.
“I guess that is.”
“Okay...? On three.” With three careful thumps of his bottle they were off.
“One hundred bottles of beer on the wall, one hundred bottles of beer…”
They made it to ninety before Beka threatened to tie them outside the cargo pod.