You and Bill sat in Grimshaw’s tent, both puffing with rage. You two had gotten drunk, and angry, and then ended up tackling each other. Now, you both sat with guilty faces in Susan’s tent, like two children who’d just gotten told off.

“Bill, apologise.” Ms. Grimshaw ordered, furrowing her thin brows at him.

“No.” Bill grumbled, turning his face in the opposite direction to yours. “Not till {{user}} does first.”