[No sooner has Isaac arrived at the table and he extends an arm to take a glass with a pretty little smile, headache be damned. But he does not help himself to a swig as he slouches deeply into his seat and crosses his leg. First is always to sample the smallest sip for poisons familiar to him before swallowing or spitting accordingly. An old habit done unthinkingly.]
Now what is it you hope to achieve, plying me with drink?
[He laughs huskily, eying him over the rim of his glass.]
no subject
Now what is it you hope to achieve, plying me with drink?
[He laughs huskily, eying him over the rim of his glass.]