[Long enough for Gnosis to find himself dancing with others while his darling husband took notes. Truly, their roles have swapped. It's quite alright, though, because it did indeed give Gnosis time to find the liquor.]

I've been sober for a month and a half by this point, [he mutters crossly,] and we're at a party.

[Yes, Gnosis, how could anybody forget how you acted at prior Victorian soirées?]

I'm not drunk regardless. I've only had a few glasses.

[Gnosis, you have the alcohol tolerance of a fucking goldfish. You're drunk.]