“My apologies,” says Richard -- his eyes are clear, his composure pristine. “What I mean by what?”

He starts to shake his head at the offer of the second tankard, recalls a previous conversation, and reaches to draw it across to his side after all. Resignation bleeds back in the form of a caught sigh as he does, a trace of shade in his next look. You could’ve just ordered stew.

Under these conditions, a single tankard is plenty.