"I was already out when the tiger did it...looking at magazines." As if this is valid and important, but it's still murmured with an off-kilter lilt, like everything he says is an afterthought. Everywhere he looks, it's impossible to know if he's really seeing, the rings within his irises brighter than normal, and sweat on his brow. Despite the horns, for all intents and purposes, he looks incredibly ill.

But he's smiling, regardless, reaching up to hold her hand to his cheek and gazing at her for a moment. The hair, the costume in it's entirety, is seemingly ignored for the moment, at least until he looks to Spike, and to what Lucrezia is talking about.

The costume is familiar, but there's no way he could recall the name of someone he barely knows in this condition.

"You're staying for dinner?"