[It's getting late. Or early. Even the most hardcore of the Angel's Share's clientele are being gently (or not) herded out by Diluc. Until finally he turns to scan the bar and... still, there is a bard perched on a stool, surrounded by empty bottles.

Diluc takes a moment to ponder how the fuck he got in this situation, where his god will bum around in his bar drinking all the best wine without paying. Then:]

We're closing, bard.