Maximilian takes the shot and holds it up in front of his eyes to examine the color, then waves his free hand over it to waft the smell. Always a scientist. "Oh, this one is trying way too hard." Then, without further delay, he shoots it. "Ugh. I hate jello shots. Are you a drink or a food? Do I chew or just swallow?" A keen observer might spot the muscle spasm over Maxmilian's cheekbone, though no one but a mind reader could tell you whether it's a stifled smile or an oncoming eye twitch. "Tastes like mess. Essence of 'just turned 21 and it's baby's first pride.' There's what, six, seven flavors here? Supposedly. But you can't pick a single one out. It's just ambiguous fruit. This tastes like that outfit." Maximilian points out a colorful, mismatched monstrosity on the dancefloor. He huff. "I hate this much enthusiasm unless it's for research or getting laid."