[ Lucius finishes his wine in turn and sets it down, not going for the decanter either. Fingers lace together as if unsure what else to do with themselves. There is a lot he desires to argue about. He considers now not to be the time nor the platform, at least in reaction to this. They've got nothing but time, anyway.
Spam
So he diverts. ]
Ah. My file. Pray, what did you think of it?