[Jack certainly has it sorted, and he doesn't even bother with a pratfall or two in the midst of it -- one does not do that sort of thing with wine no matter how much one clowns about, even on a night where all of it flows freely. Instead, he manages the glass and the pour in almost one entire smooth movement, a quick arc of an arm and a hand from the back of the couch all the way to the floor.

The sound of the fall of liquid, the shuffle of soft purple fabric; the comfortable sounds of Jack adjusting his posture yet again to account for McGillis on the floor, stretching out the length of the couch on his front and placing the bottle itself on the floor where they both can reach it.

This way it's easier to converse.]

Number one couch aficionado? [a brief tickle of laughter, sloshing the liquid in his own glass and McGillis' which he is holding out expectantly] I must share that title with Miss Yuri, you know, I am stealing her resting place for the time being. But...

Don't get too sentimental! I am told I am terrible, so terrible at staying dead. The worst anyone has ever seen, perhaps.