"Chips Chips Chips!" It seems a good chant, his free hand smacking up and down on the bar. The bartender looks like they've had enough, but at least no one was starting a fight. Jacob might, later, but right now he had a lovely lady to speak to, and a lemon... thingy. That was enough to keep him busy.

He makes a face, the idea of being stuck anywhere really offensive to him. After all, Frye means free! "No one can leave? At all?" He's still got enough functioning brain cells to ask that, even if the rest are all swimming in alcohol.

And to compound the effect, he takes a sip from the glass again. "What do you do? As a job?"

"So much? This isn't much." Jacob tells her, although the cocktail is hitting him a little harder than beer might do. "At home I can have ten pints before I'm rat-arsed. This is nothing."