Lucius gasps at the accusation, his hand reaching up to press against his sternum. He is offended, good sir, that you would accuse him of having piss poor taste in alcohol when they've just finished draining a bead decorated skull of tequila in the wee hours of the morning. Though, frankly, he had licked a lamp post as a child and that's the most recent memory he has of the midlands.

Fortunately, before he can deliver a sassy riposte, Izzy is on to the threats and Lucius just groans. It's melodramatic, involves letting his head loll back, and he throws up his arms as he does.

"Of course you would--fine, just--no--you know what?" Lucius says and snaps back upright, gesturing at Izzy with his missing index finger. "I'm going to go make another drink and call it the Izzy."