John snorts quietly, but some of the tension leaves his shoulders. He does know that Daisy wouldn't have meant to outright insult him — she's not above giving him a verbal kick in the arse when he needs one, but her intention has never been to hurt — but, well. They're both still... adjusting, to all of this. It's no surprise that said adjustments aren't always graceful.

"How do you feel about mimosas?" he asks. "Or I suppose you could go with straight champagne." She'd probably need a whole bottle to get anywhere at all, but it would be rude to raid Eliot's liquor cabinet for anything stronger.