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    Summary

    "Roy?" Beard bends at the waist, leaning forward as far as he can and twisting around to peer at Roy's face instead of just taking a step like a normal person. "Next match you're going to hack off all their left feet with a rusty bread knife and feed them to... whom?"

    "Fuck," Roy says, still shooting daggers in Jamie's direction. Jamie glances around the room, hoping for a clue, but the rest of the team look just as confused as he is.

    Beard stays bent up all weird, because he's that sort of nutter. "What's up?"

    Roy shakes his head, scowling. "Nothing. Just realised I'm in fucking love with Tartt. Christ, I am not in the fucking mood for this shit."

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