"I'm not trying to fuck any of them." Said with the same condescending tone he'd use on a dog that soiled the carpet. "And what kind of shitty wingman is hotter than everyone else here? You're terrible at this."

At least his snarl is visible before he hikes the mask back up. He's in the perfect state of being almost too drunk to give a fuck, and just sober enough to care leaving him in some sort of testy equilibrium. The amount of times he's been legitimately mad in his life he could count on those ten fingers, and this isn't even close.

But he's definitely annoyed.

"You're the one that wanted to come to this." Because the mature thing to do is turn this around and make it Len's fault. Not that he's even really sure what this is. Kano had once said that rich people act like idiots because it seeps into their fancy clothes and houses. Maybe he was right, seeing how Len seems to have done some sort of one-eighty since they got here.

And thinking that Kano was right about anything, puts him in an even fouler mood. One where he's probably going to say some things he's bound to regret.

"I don't need your help to get laid. Pity-fuck when we first met notwithstanding. If that's what I was going for I'd already be back at our place with one of them and...." Oh.

Oh.

Len might actually be able to see the meaty gears of his charcoal brain working hard to slot into place so he finally fucking understands whats going on here. Only half of his face is visible but his eyes narrow in that alcohol induced way where he's trying to solve the mysteries of the universe by simply staring it into submission.

"Are you jealous?" He gives a drunken gesture encompassing those fifteen living, breathing women he'd been talking about earlier. "Of them?"

Holy shit.

"You've gotta be fucking with me."