Canaan startled at the man's confrontation, but didn't shrivel up. His glare shot from the bottle of whiskey and up to the proximity of the frog man's own gaze. He couldn't meet any one eye best, and so he was stuck with staring blankly at what was the equivalent of the bridge of his nose. Canaan pulled the mug away from mouth to protest, but he wasn't fast enough. Another spoke first.
In the very brief moment since her introduction, Canaan had forgotten the woman standing just a feet away from the table. Her words were cutting and Canaan wasn't entirely sure she wasn't referring to one or both of them. He couldn't even remember what exactly he'd said about getting a cut, so he couldn't be sure he'd not said the wrong thing. Pricks of defensiveness crept up along the back of his neck.
"I have more rights than you -you, Wastelander- to be here." The stumble in the middle caused Canaan to not fully commit to the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue. He just paused and stewed, not sure he wanted to share further. "You've got the nerve..." Again, his voice died out far sooner than he had intended. Suddenly, he brought the mug to his lips and downed the shot of whiskey that had been poured into it a few seconds ago. A thought occurs to him, "All dem eyes you got, it got you seeing things. Things that ain't there." Satisfaction finally slipped into his lips and cheeks.