Bif sighed, his eyes rolling upwards. "Why should you be so concerned about my emotional capacity?" he asked coolly. His foot was tapping under the table again. "I really don't think it's any of your business."
Please don't start acting as though you have Derby's concerns at heart, either, you conniving little prat, Bif silently prayed. He watched the way Tad waved to the staff for a second drink, and examined his own in his hand. He wasn't going to get drunk. He could do that back in the comfort of his own surroundings, away from Spencer and anyone who might see him here.
"Another one already?" he asked. Already wondering if Tad had an addiction of his own-- the way he'd seemed so oblivious about the cocaine earlier struck Bif as an unconvincing act-- he wanted to see what an intoxicated Spencer looked like. Sort of. The probable reality of him being a bit louder, a lot more arrogant and no longer possessing the self-control to censor himself when needed could either be comedic... or tragic.