It is precisely this facial expression, this dilemma, that draws Parson down the bar to where Maximilian has set up shop. Even without being well familiar with a co-worker's stank face, he'd be able to tell -- the dude's got an aura, after all.

Parson doesn't engage right away. Like a fairy courtier waiting for a silly mortal to accidentally steal fae food before descending to ruin their life, Parson bides his time filling a tall glass with aerated water.

Only once Max has taken another sip does he lean in with a grin and a nod, acknowledging both the tumbler in his hand and the sour look on his face. "Aw, come on, it can't be that bad. What'd I do? Too much lavender? Not enough grape-a-licious flavor?"