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Lucas never drank with the intent to be drunk, primarily because, with his tolerance, it took such a massive amount of effort to achieve such a state. For once, however, he was willing to make that effort. Having located the strongest spirits available - and, as was to be expected, the criminal organization was quite well-stocked - he had seated himself on a stool in one of the further back areas of the recreational facilities, near the small kitchen area. He leaned backwards against one of the island counters, resting an elbow against it, and supported a glass in his opposite hand. Its contents looked, smelled, and tasted every bit like harmless apple juice, but the subtle burning sensation it evoked betrayed a more sinister element.

He had a partially unimpeded view of the door from his seat, and he watched the door with a mild intrigue when the handle wiggled and depressed, the tall barrier swinging open. He couldn't make out the Pikachu that scurried in, but he caught enough of a glance of Claire to bring a momentary frown to his face. Company wasn't high on his list of priorities at the time. In fact, it was damn near the bottom. Perhaps if he just sat quietly he would go unnoticed--

"Damn it, Zeus." His words were a quiet mutter but were no less sincere for it. As expected, the Pikachu's approach was followed shortly by that of his human, and Lucas was obligated to greet her with at least some degree of civility. "Evening, Claire," he responded with a slight nod, an uncharacteristically languid smile replacing his usual bright grin.

"Why do you say it like that?" he said with a laugh. "You know, I spend most of my time by myself. It's not really that unusual." His tone remained friendly and nonchalant, though his expression failed to match it. It wasn't as though he was lying, though - Lucas had been making a conscious effort for nearly ten years to maintain a comfortable distance from every individual he encountered. The ice in his momentarily forgotten beverage shifted as it slowly melted from the heat of his hand.

"No? I came back here the last time to fix those drinks you kept insisting you wanted," he said with something of a sarcastic bite of humor to his words. "I guess it's pretty well shoved into a corner, though, so it's understandable that you overlooked it." It was exactly that quality that Lucas liked about the little island of counters and exactly the reason he had chosen them for his temporary retreat.

"Anything interesting?" He gave a long, thoughtful hum as he ran through the day's events. "...Nothing in particular, I don't think. Started doing some work on designs for the weapons division, but that's not really anything exciting." He raised the glass to his lips and sipped at his drink casually.

"Nothing you want a taste of, that's for sure." In other words, very much alcohol. "Only barely want to drink it myself, to tell the truth. It's kind of gross. But oh well." He drew another sip from the glass, features remaining unchangingly dim. He sat in a momentary silence until a thought - a recollection of a statement Isadora had made earlier - returned to him.

"You'd get over it if I died, right?" Rather than seeking an opinion, his tone implied that he was expecting assertion to a fact. Inhibitions were slowly slipping out through the window, dragging tact kicking and screaming along after them.

"What the hell kind of answer is that?" he quipped, scarcely missing a beat. "How about answering my question before asking your own?" A slight irritation emerged in his words, his eyes locked on the glass in his hand.

With a sigh, he set his glass on the counter and turned to face her fully. "Let's try and visualize this more clearly, shall we?" Two fingers and a thumb extended in the traditional gesture of an imaginary gun, Lucas raised his still-bruised hand to his head and pressed the impromptu 'barrel' against his temple. "Bang. I'm dead. How do you react?"

"I just want to know your answer, Claire," he entreated, spreading his hands earnestly. "It's not that hard a question, right? You wanna try visualizing with a real gun? I could go get one." He continued to ignore any words that weren't the ones he sought. He knew he was drunk, though only barely so. Just enough to take the innate kindness from his disposition, though not nearly enough to lull him into compliance.