Tuco looked a little at a loss. He'd psyched himself up for a fight, only now he seemed to have been sidelined, left to watch the beginnings of an impromptu drinking contest instead. Setting his glass down, he reached over (hesitating briefly like some tiny part of him was trying for a gentler, less encouraging gesture) and clapped his hand against Visscher's shoulder.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" he said brightly, glancing from one badly lit face to another. It wasn't like the place had gone silent, but the energy had changed. For every few men lost in the bottom of their drinks, there was another staring in their direction. And maybe they were just curious... but maybe they were thinking what he was thinking, too.

"You think you can keep going?" he asked, voice now a hushed half-whisper.