The problem with this game is that it's a relay race more than a sprint. He's played games similar to this in dives all over the Midwest but that was years ago, now. Not long enough that he's forgotten how to ignore the burn in his throat. The roll in his gut when he swallows down the drink as though he needs it to live.

His empty cup clatters against the table hollowly when he slams it down. Got one. It won't be a shutout now, at least. It takes an awful lot of self control not to cough. Jim raises his gaze back up to the Legionnaire.

"Not...just a gentleman." It's not exactly the quip he wants but Jim doesn't have the vocabulary for what he does want to say. It'll have to do. It's only now that he realizes a question is supposed to follow. Felix isn't here. Jim doesn't know what the mage would want to know about his aunt, so long far from home. So he'll ask one of his own.

"What're you getting at, here? Is this really just a game?"