Baccus lifts his cup. "Aye, after my own heart there. There is never a pour time for wine."
Goldie face palms. Mavus shakes his head. Ophelia is the only one who found it cute.
Mavus rights himself. "An era? Well, we're from what would be...I suppose 1780 to you all. So, I guess the future. That would be fun."
Baccus, too, adjusts himself. "Are the drugs better?"
Goldie pulls of a cigarette, "yes, yes they are."
"Then the future it is."
Ophelia plays with her dress. "I don't really care when. I'd just like to be in a field. Surround by bees and flowers and sunshine."
Mavus puts a hand on her shoulder. Baccus turns his head to the ceiling. "Sweet Jesus, give me the strength not to confess right now."
"Say what?" Goldie leans to him. "Say what about confessing?"
He points to her. "Shut your mouth."
"Make me, I ain't afraid."
Mavus holds them back. "Okay, okay, okay, everyone chill out. They were very gracious to invite us here, behave."
"Fine," says an exasperated Goldie. She folds into her chair. "I would go to the future, too. This whole think about the Jazz era and prohibition sounds right up my alley."
Baccus sticks out his tongue but, then too looks into this era. "Ooh, this sounds..."
Mavus leans over. "What ---oh, oh no. No. No, Goldie, NO!"
She's already standing, fedora on her head tilted. Her shoes are spatz. "It's like I was born for this."
Ophelia's got a flapper dress on. She whips her hips to ear the beads."Ooh, this is fun."
Baccus looks over to her. the power of Christ compels him. He slicks his hair back and pours them some absinthe. a stupid grin on his face.
Mavus throws out his hands. "Wait, no. NO! Everyone put down the Jazz era. Drop it! DROP IT"
He looks to the audience. "Forgive me, we'll be right back." He starts to walk off, but remembers, "uhh, right, right, if you could meet anyone real or fictitious, who would you?" He gives a quick smile, then runs after Goldie.