Alvin flexed his fingers uncomfortably one more time before setting his forearms on the edge of the bar once more. He didn't want to pick up the whiskey again, it was almost too tempting.

He supposed he could see why the summer season would be busy for a potioneer, but had never quite made the connection before. "Lots of superficial potions needed?" He chuckled. Superficial might not be the right word— and it was nothing against Greengrass, but Alvin had to assume that the boost at the beginning of the season was debutants and their mothers trying to magically fix any flaws that might make them less desirable for the marriage mart.

"Sorry that was unfair of me, I'm feeling pessimistic." Alvin's levels of sarcasm fluctuated with his moods, but he didn't think it fair to subject Greengrass to this depth of it.