That gives Ransom a half second's pause, and maybe more than a half second's disappointment — but if the guy's willing to drink it anyway then at least Ransom doesn't need to convince him.

"No warning necessary. I had some earlier." And poured it out on the grass, but Percy doesn't need to know that. As loathe as Ransom is to have his own tongue loosened, well, the risk is a fair exchange. He swallows from the mug in his hand. "I'm guessing the idea is some good old lowered inhibitions."

He's not at Percy's back anymore, facing him instead, and transfers the mug so he can hold out his hand. "Ransom Drysdale."