[ The trick with the tongs is so weird and so cool that she's momentarily startled by it. As the cap flies away, her gaze pivots dramatically to try and see where it went; he's left holding the bottle for a second or two before she looks back and takes it. It's lifted an inch in gratitude before she takes a sip.

And then Frank answers, and—

Silence.

Lowering the bottle again, her eyebrows jerk up expectantly and she spends a few moments waiting for him to prove he wasn't raised in a barn. When that accomplishes nothing, she adopts a crude pastiche of gravelly voice and nondescript accent. Does it get her point across? Probably not. ]

"Thanks so much for asking, Nash! How are you?"

[ And then, in her own voice, ]

Oh, so sweet of you to ask, Frank. I'm great. Stitches healed nicely.

[ Frank's voice again, although she's audibly struggling to keep pitch and not laugh. ]

"Glad to hear it. Ten four. Over and out."

[ As a curtain call on her little show, she takes a sip of beer. It's largely to hide her growing smile. ]