[ Krouse raises his eyebrows, communicating in teen-to-teen body language of multiverse spanning fluency: seriously? ]

He's European. [ Krouse says, dryly, turning to face Heather fully, his hands still behind his back. ] And you don't look direly underage. I'm even not sure 'underage drinking' is really a concept that applies here - I mean, have you seen anyone getting carded anywhere?

[ He shrugs dismissively. He's not twenty-one, and he's been smoking since he wasn't quite fifteen yet. He's always had a flexible view of age-based legal restrictions. He also thinks he's right: Hannibal doesn't strike him as the type to think a sixteen or seventeen year old at a supervised dinner party can't have some wine to complement the meal. ]

Just don't get hammered, all right? [ That, Hannibal would care about. Krouse doesn't want to wind up explaining why there's a drunk teenage girl throwing up in a potted plant, or anything else like that. ] And the wine for the party is being served already, out there. So if you're in here looking for coconut rum, or whatever, you probably should've brought a mickey.

[ Teenage girls love coconut rum, in Krouse's vague awareness. ]