That's better. That's got the spark of mischief back in Jensen's eye, and John watches steadily over his glass as he sips, then tosses back the shot. He's not aiming to get ossified - still got a set to do later when the rest of the band roll up - but just ease off a little. Sometimes it's wiser, with Jensen.
"You wanna head backstage?" he offers, head tilting in the direction of the pass door. "Got some new stock in, few samples in my dressing room..."
Fresh snow, pure and white as the driven. And a little hint of privacy. The other performers are used to hearing the noises that come from John's dressing room when he's got company. They learn to knock pretty fast.