"Yeah... I mean. Yes," she corrects herself, the skin that he's touching shuddering under his fingertips. "Feathers."

She feels very fuzzy and cloudy, like she's wrapped in cotton wool, and she stares at him when he asks his question, not quite sure if he means does she like his touch, or the effects of the drink. Both are causing a physical reaction, and she covers her confusion by lifting her glass to her lips and taking another mouthful. A single drop of potion-laced whiskey falls from her lip to the top of her breast, leaving a darker patch on the lace-edged peach silk. "It's... nice." Which doesn't answer anything, and she thinks she's been marvellously clever.