[color=39b54a]"Of course. Ask and you shall receive. Gertrude, be so kind. To our guests." [/color]

The reply satiated itself only with service. 

Soon, the enveloping mist once again separated its wispy constitution, not for Starovir, nor the feminine moniker's owner, but into an unseen sliver of air, now bearing five empty goblets, stacked and bubbling away from by the fireside to the new friendly puppeteer, in an oscillating stride. The flagon levitated again, to join this instance but without any savory gymnastics, by invisible means, eventually relatively higher than the towering column of cups, a shoulder-width away. 

A flick of a latch later accompanied a verdant stream, quickly meeting the brim of covert civility and affording the imperceptible gesture to George's handler, as an ostracized cannikin, permeated with the liqueur of mint and volcanic ash. 

The chalice lingered steadily, in the whipped ambiance, with succulent liquid, awaiting for a vise to grasp and possess the drink at hand.