That’s a terrible pun, and she makes a really? sort of face even as she smirks into her cocktail. This one — she hadn’t cared what you got for free and she isn’t getting a whole lot from the names of drinks — is sharper, sweeter, less smoky. It’s all right.

“You did wipe the floor pretty hard,” she parries, absolutely deadpan. His lack of concern makes her think that’s a no to his sclera having been white in the last couple of hours, and she wonders why.

“Got one on me. I don’t even know what a cow looks like, much less how to…cowboy.” Camilla takes a long sip. “Not that I’d know, I guess,” she notes, her tone a little sardonic, “But no headache if I try. So I assume it isn’t forbidden knowledge.”