Arthur sighs<strong>"I did not. I don't write poetry, and if I did it wouldn't be about a fox who can't keep her grubby paws to herself."</strong>As you go about messing up the order of his ingredients and otherwise leaving smudges on his bar, he looks at the ice pick in his hands, then to the knife he was cutting limes with. Probably deciding which would be better for stabbing you with. However he just sighs and uses a towel with a Whip-Snap! hitting the back of your hand painfully.<strong>"Look if you want a drink just ask. You know Charles likes you girls drunk anyway..."</strong>He then starts wiping up the smudges your greasy mitts left, awaiting your drink order.