[Manolo gives a modest shrug and a lopsided grin.] I had a little help with the mezcal. But it was my father's drink of choice, so I knew I had to at least try to find some.

[Maybe they could share the rest later. In the meantime, he sets his guitar down and crawls toward the foot of the bed. Settling on his stomach now, he peers down at Joaquin.]

That'd be nice. I think they'd let it slide this time around, though. At the very least, the food and alcohol would keep them distracted, eh?