"All right," he agrees easily enough. He's had several more tonight than is usual for him, mostly in this semi-celebration afterwards.

Gabriel's arm tightens slightly around Regan, and he turns to press an absentminded kiss to her hair, afterwards adding,

"It's probably best I not try to make another amaretto sour at this point anyway. I never was as good a bartender as -- what was his name, ài rén?"

This is perhaps a little dry, but not unamused.

"Desmond-- no, Dennis, wasn't it?"