"And yet you owe me something." He says it a bit flatly, brow still arched, eyes still assessing. He's going along for the sake of a drink, and maybe some insight into--whatever everyone seems to think he was doing. Someone was doing, with his face and his name. This place is ridiculous enough on its own, and asking him to believe both at once seems fucking unfair.

"No one who is actually secure in their position with women says pretty occupied with pussy," is what he decides for now, giving in to the impulse to roll his eyes. In a way, he's doing it for the whole situation, and this man has decided to bear the burden.

All he can do is walk into the lion's den and pray this phantom of himself never gave the guy cause to think he'd suck his dick. "Is it that obvious," he asks, "that I don't know what the fuck any of you are talking about?"