Wednesday grunted. "Far too often." For a moment he looked away, and muttered under his breath. "Fucking Christians. Why can't they just stay in Bethleham where they belong?" (Which had been a frequent curse for him since 995 AD when that damned upstart King Olav came to power).
Wednesday got knocked out of his reverie when the Marquis shifted at his side, (caught up in his own thoughts, apparently). Wednesday, ever practical, slapped a hand to the marquis shoulder,( nearly knocking him over), and cleared his throat. "Well, shall we?" and he lead the marquis in the direction of the bar.