You think any of 'em are gonna throw food, if they had that? [ Wolfwood snorts and rolls his eyes, very amused at this picture: Vash playing the piano, singing off-key for a crowd with enough food to throw at him. ] They'd probably throw their glasses at you. Or their shoes, which would be worse than any rotten food.

[ He wrinkles his nose, thinking of that. ] You ever smelled the feet of one of these ruffians after they've walked around an entire day? Disgusting. We'd have to kick 'em out for that, so we gotta make sure you can sing.

[ As Vash reaches across, Wolfwood grabs the bottle, raising it over head. Despite that, he's careful not to jostle Vash too much, too comfortable, enjoying this far too much. That's dangerous territory, and Wolfwood knows it, but he's too tipsy to care. ]

You think being drunk's gonna improve your singing?