That eyebrow shot up again, but this time Drake's expression remained open, almost friendly. Alcohol may not have the same effect on him as it did on humans, but it still mellowed him out considerably. "You do that. I better see you there in yer short shorts, though. Only fair," he joked. Stop the presses. Drake made a joke. It was lame, of course. What could one expect from the normally humorless man? But at least give him points for trying. His face remained in that not-quite-smiling expression and, some might say miraculously, did not crack.
"Yeahh, well. It's a wonder what people will pay money to see these days," he replied, chugging down most of what remained in his mug. He pulled out his wallet, counted out some bills, and set them on the bar. "That about settle my tab?" he called out to the bartender before turning to face Tabbart again. He gave his new acquaintance a little nod, eyeing him curiously. His eyes had gotten somewhat used to the bright color scheme by now.
"Well, friend. It's been real." He waited for the barkeep to count the money and offer any change back, if any, before tipping the man. He groaned as he got up, stretching some and arching his back. He'd been sitting too long. It wasn't something he was used to.