[Okay! Hot water, got. Cups, got. Wriothesley: ...easy enough to locate, if one just looks for the Really Tall Hottie lingering nearby. Satan bounds over, practically glowing with excitement (and admiration) (look the guy looks bangin' smoking, can't help that can he), and waves the thermos expectantly.]

Hey, gorgeous. Where d'you wanna do this? I don't mind, long as it's not right in public. Obvious reasons, I hope.

[Bad news, Wriothesley, sir. it's absolutely the pair he's wearing that's getting used for a filter. At least that means that it like. Turns into ambrosia, from the looks of it? Why the fuck is it sparkling. What is he about to make his date drink.]