Izzy leans in and gives him a look of pure promise. It's the promise of violence but, ironically, he doesn't actually expect that Izzy will ever throw hands. He cocks a brow and sets his hands on his hips, ignores his basket of neatly folded laundry and promptly exacerbates the situation.

"Did I stutter?" Lucius asks and, a second later, wonders if he did. He has had a lot of alcohol. He's not given to slurring but, well, that Tequila hit hard.

"Yes," he slurs, to clarify. "Absolutely was, yes. I'm gonna make a stupid cocktail and teach the ghosts and you can just...try to stop me?"

Is he suggesting violence or a game? Suddenly he hopes game. This ship is so fucking boring that having someone to play a stupid game of cat and mouse with would be the highlight of his day. He already stops by daily to harass Izzy with shirts and beverages, why not add a game. Lucius's expression goes from sassy and furious to awed. His eyes light up and he grins brightly at Izzy like he's just hung the moon.

"What are the rules--come on, come on," Lucius demands, suddenly rife with energy and excitement. "We need rules. Only that one bar, right? No testing or concocting elsewhere. No...uh...not at night. Gotta sleep, no fun if we're trying to sleep. Come on, give me one."