Glad to hear it isn't a total bust, Charlie raises his own glass in a return half-asses salute. He gravitates toward the couch without a second invitation, snagging the bottle and taking it with him as he goes. No need to get up and down again the moment he empties his glass -- which, if the swig he takes is any indication, won't be terribly long off.

"Still living with that fussy mechanic bloke, are you?" There's some bizarre collection of machinery left on the coffee table that Charlie can only assume belongs to whatshisface.