[deciding that the tea is as done as it's ever going to get, he pours the mess into a kettle and - feeling generous - grabs a cup for her. then, feeling particularly vindictive tonight, he grabs a bottle of something fine and expensive from his liquor stash on the way out.]

Dashinly handsome as I am, I don't figure your lot want a waiter in their midst.

[he sets everything on the small coffee table, but makes no effort to make her glass for her.]

Secret royalty, astronomically kickin' the ass a all your assorted lineages - that's soap opera shit. Last I heard, you like your fiction more...

[he uncaps the bottle and takes a long swig.]

...purple.