He’s politer than she is, though her pleasantly direct gaze is more measuring than immediately lascivious: it is a well established habit, by now, to take every advantage offered her. She isn’t going to fail to take in all the details she can about a person just because they’re naked and that’s weird. You’re weird. Don’t worry about it.

“Athénaïs Tavarys,” she introduces herself, settling close enough that they can pass the bottle between them without too much difficulty, and far enough that they’ve both got a reasonable amount of personal space in which to be publicly naked.

It’s a delicate balance.

“And this,” tilting the bottle, “certainly earns me an introduction in return, I reckon,” as she offers it to him. It’s not the first sip; she’s definitely been drinking already.