Sharbius
Champagne it was. Mobius snagged them two slender, fluted glasses and poured a bit of the bubbly into each - he really liked champagne, personally; maybe it was the nose tickle. Or the crackling, fizzing sound whenever a cork was popped - the way champagne hit you too, it actually happened a lot quicker than one might think. There wasn't really a slow onset of the liquor effects.
He'd make sure to sip slowly though, so as not to plow himself with booze in some kinda overeager way. The feast had been a good lesson in pacing oneself. "Yeah?" He glanced at Sharon, leaning against the drink table, sort of halfway perched there. "What's wrong?"
Or, well, he hoped nothing was wrong. Though the word talking could mean a variety of things.