[Okay yep bad joke confirmed. Her jaw tightens as anger bubbles up in her, and she puts the drink down, turning toward him as her blade forms itself in her right hand, seeming to emerge as always from the very veins of her wrist until it solidifies into a short but very sharp-looking knife. Not pointed at him or anything, just a gentle reminder. And then she speaks, slowly, as if he's a particularly stupid child.]

Sure. All right, Charles. You can't die here, nor can anyone else, but I can still cause you an awful lot of pain. I don't know why you're here right now, interrupting my meal. But if you're not careful, I'll add you to it. Would you like that?