Don Juan raised his eyebrows, a look of amusement on his face. "No, it's not quite good enough to bother lapping it off the floor," he quipped in return. What she'd said hadn't been exceptionally funny on its surface, but her tone struck him as humorous. Did he know her already? It was hard to keep track of all the ins and outs of society these days; everyone already knew him, for the most part, and so he only got an introduction half the time anyway. Perhaps he'd met her before and she'd faded into the background of polite society in his brain, or perhaps he'd managed to avoid her thus far. He'd gone through a period where he was too infamous to receive invitations, except to the kinds of parties where they didn't mind, so it was entirely possible for him not to know people who were otherwise quite standard in society circles. He had discovered this recently: since Oz's election, he'd started getting more invitations again, and now he got into situations where he had to wonder whether or not he knew people.

"I had a cup earlier," he volunteered. "If you're parched, I'll give you mine. I could trade it up for a cocktail, probably," he mused. "Assuming the weeping wonder hasn't already smashed the liquor bottles."

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