"This tastes like an elderly closeted lesbian's perfume," Maximilian replies, turning his sour expression to Parson. "And I don't mean that in a nice way, either. There is no cozy, cookie-baking warmth here. She's in a loveless hetero marriage with grandchildren that don't visit. She doesn't knit or anything, just spies on the neighbors and gossips at her husband who doesn't listen." He looks down at his drink. "Tastes like regret." Apparently, that's good enough for him, though, because he downs the rest of the contents before depositing the glass back on the table.