"Naturally not. It's... a pint or two, typically. At least." She should be more concerned, probably. He should, too, under the circumstances. Just what kind of life has he led that this feels like a normal exchange?

"That seems a bit... counterproductive, doesn't it? Granted, I have little protest for the idea, if you're certain of its workings..." now, she finally moves to stand, hand gently slipping out from under the carbuncle's paw. She's no taller than before, though her feet are no longer separate from the sharp-toed stilettos she wears normally. It's such a bizarre feeling, even as she hesitates to approach. Really, if he steps close enough, can she hold herself at bay? She hopes so. "What are these things anyway?" A little late... at least they got there. Sort of.