[Koby lets out an unconscious sigh of relief when Eddie moves on from the precarious stacks of books -- which, really, whose fault is that, who has the unwieldy messes everywhere, hm? But still, the living area is a much safer place to be, the couches and chairs and various brightly colored pillows and throws. Fewer things to knock over, though not without a few piles of books and knick-knacks, mostly nautical in nature. Or star-themed. Or, oddly, flower-patterened.

Settling on a footstool, Koby gladly nods, accepting his role as fussy host. He knows himself, and he also knows that Eddie likes the thick, heady taste of the rum in one of the bottles Koby grabs from under a nearby table, tugging at the cork with his teeth until it releases with a pop and a hiss.] You're absolutely right I won't. Who knows how long it's been since you've sat down. [A beat.] Sit down, Eddie.

[Once obeyed, Koby offers the bottle, frowning a little, thoughtfully.] You're a performer, is that what you mean?