"I'll never tell." A finger is laid alongside Byerly's nose, and he winks.

"Though if I had ruined his guts, it might actually have saved his life." His wry grin is turned on Flint himself. "I think you were about ready to put a knife in his heart. Bastien was, too, though he'd have come in from the back." Byerly mimes the neat way a Bard would dispatch a target from behind. "You'd have done it from the front." He arranges his face in a reasonable approximation of the hard, still expression Flint has when he truly hates someone, and mimes a far less elegant and far more brutal swing of a dagger into a chest. "Sending him home meant he'd live to shit himself another day."

Byerly drops the key into Flint's hand, then gestures towards the cabinet in invitation.