[He lets out a feigned yelp as Asra's hand comes down hard across his knee, makes a big show of rubbing it, and he already has a retort ready on the tip of his tongue, just waiting for Asra to pause. But then Getty interrupts, and Julian turns to the task at hand with easy readiness-- he's ready for his next drink, even if the plan here is to avoid drinking so much he folds.

And so he listens with intent as Asra reels off his turn, brows furrowed in concentration, and it reminds him again that there are still so many things about Asra that he doesn't know. Whether that's through his own selfish negligence or Asra's enigmatic disposition (or the anger he felt towards him, the bitterness over his failures), he isn't sure. And dwelling on it won't help him now, either, so--]

Well, that thing about the magical kettle sounds so ridiculous that it almost seems like you want me to choose it. But kettles can't talk, not even magic could do that, surely.

[He runs a hand back through his auburn curls, shakes his head a moment later when they bounce back over his face again. Difficult. They thing about his hair also sounds suspect to him, but ultimately--]

Look, I refuse to believe that kettle thing could be true. Let's go with that.