Andrew rolls his eyes heavenward. "Bell-oss-i-rappah," he tries again, making an effort to enunciate. "I'ss a kine-uh -- oh, there it goes." And look he's dropped his snifter and all that rye has gone down Penelope's shoulder, isn't that just a shame. Andrew sniffs, feeling he's solved the problem of the foisted drink quite neatly. "Velociraptors," he clarifies. "Pack hunters."