[ Krouse glances away from John, his eyes happening to scan over the nearest people to them at the edge of the event, all of them out of easy earshot.

Then he uses his free hand to tip up the bottom of his mask far enough to finally actually take a drink from his flute. It's lukewarm by now. He doesn't see what the big deal about it is. It tastes like bad juice. ]

Fuck.

[ Krouse drops the mask back down over a briefly visible rueful smile and runs his hand through his hair, rumpling it out of its semi-neat arrangement. ]

I should know that, shouldn't I?

[ It's probably a bad time to ask John what he'd recommend Krouse invent for that. ]

Whatever you're thinking, you're probably not right. I mean, you could be, but you'd be a hell of a guesser. And I know how this will sound, trust me, but - hear me out?

[ He doesn't say please, because he thinks that sounds pathetic enough as it is. Hear me out. ]