You are, [ he agrees mildly, and crosses toward the bar, hopping up onto it as casually as you please. a second glass drifts up from behind the bar, and he plucks it out of the air, picking up the bottle with his free hand to peer at its worn label. ] --On a scale of one to industrial solvent, where would you rate this?

[ not that it matters much. he's pouring a glass of it anyway, setting the bottle back down and crossing his ankles. ]

You clearly know me-- what do you prefer to be called?