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"Why do I only ever get caught up in the Rift's craziness when you're around?" Peter mutters into his bottle before taking a swig. It's an exaggeration, but it's not much of one.

"Are you complaining about the free drinks?" Scarlett asks, grinning and poking him with her foot when he makes a face.

"I'm complaining about the fire," he announces, gesturing more grandly than he would have before the last couple of beers. "Even without the heat, even without the ability to make its way into the cellar. I am lodging a complaint about the damn fire. And about being stuck in a cellar for two hours."

"Go take it up with the fire," she suggests.

He seriously contemplates it for a moment, despite himself. It is Rift-induced fire. It might be sentient.

... Of course, if it is, he'll probably be pissing off a Rift-induced sentient natural disaster. And if he doesn't then he's yelling at a fire, and he's not drunk enough for that. Yet. It could happen if the barman keeps offering free drinks -- as if trying to make up for the fact that it was this block got magically caught on fire and forced everyone down into the cellar, since his was the only building on the block with one, and the fire didn't seem to be willing to move below-ground. Small favors. Nobody was complaining, because even if the fire didn't give off heat, it still burned you when you got trapped in it. One person was all they needed to lose to figure that out.

So, no arguing with the fire. He leans back against the wall instead, scowling up the stairs that lead back into the bar proper.

"I didn't think so."

The face he makes in response may not be the most mature answer to that, but it's the first answer to come to mind.