Enoch can't help it, he laughs at the mental image of dryly delivering a queer sex history eulogy for his little sister. The shots are having an effect. "The last thing I want is for people to share a single personal detail during my funeral. Everyone getting maudlin and lying about how wonderful I was? Sickening."

He's being flippant, but this conversation is drifting into serious territory. Time to course correct.

He leans forward, staring at the two shots like he might able to divine their molecular structure if only he looks hard enough. "Which of these is more drinkable? For your information, I have lie detection powers now." (It's not quite that straightforward, but Crysta doesn't know that yet.)