Scaramouche fails to notice the man's eyes trailing him up and, well, up. He's checking out the bar's selection of cocktails, tapping a finger on his chin as he does so. He hears the next part, however; his optics widen, an absent-minded smile playing on his strange metal lips, and he speaks without looking at who he's talking to.

"Who knew they had it in them!?" He shakes his head. "Not me, babe."