"Swell. Uh, nice, grand, magnanimous and benevolent." He's surprised he got those last two words out, the way his tongue feels right now.

Deacon shifts his weight, just enough to casually draw away from the touch without too obviously seeming like he's drawing away. Even drunk, maybe especially drunk, it's hard not to instinctively perceive even innocuous touches as a potential threat.

"I'd say no to the first, yes to the second."