Vandelin's usual paranoia has never really extended to the Inquisition in the way others would tell him it should. His concerns are more on the level of 'they won't let the free mages stay free for good once the Chantry has a new Divine' than 'they're going to poison everyone at a party, their own operatives included.' Still, even the smallest of details sends a clear message, and if a division head herself is reminding him of that, he had best be more attentive to it.

"But how much of it can you drink before running afoul of the no-intoxication edict?" he asks, sipping obligingly from his glass with a wry smile. It's a question that feels ever so slightly safer to ask of another elf, even if, for all he knows, the Dalish build up their alcohol tolerance with wild raging forest keggers every weekend. "Though I suppose Madame de Cedoux can't make you haul boxes of files around at the crack of dawn, Scoutmaster."