Something sad hit John's eyes, and the hauteur drained from his face, at least to some extent. "Trying isn't my thing," he said, and scratched at the growing scruff on his chin. His so-called beard itched as he regrew it. "I don't jump through hoops. Enjoy your drink, and your evening," he said, without rancour, before nodding and stepping away. "Sorry for the interruption, Dutch."