Eliot holds the bottle briefly and cruelly out of the way, because he's not done being dramatic yet. One eyebrow leaps elegantly toward his hairline, like Peter Pan on mescaline, and he fixes her with a look of shock and horror whilst steering them towards the nearest place coffee can be had. He psychically senses that's where they're going, because the arbitrarily assigned around 2 PM is exactly when a person needs coffee, and the time that person needs to add alcohol to said coffee is like, always.

"Margo." Intent. Focused. He is about to ask a question that looks deep into her very soul, and none but the basest honesty will suffice for an answer. "Are you saying to me, right now, in this very significant shared moment of our strangely bucolic and yet somehow restful lives," pause, pause pause, build the tensiiiooooon and: "there is sinning going on I don't know about? In our picturesque little hovel, no less?"

In an aside of actual seriousness, Eliot can only be this uh, Eliot because Margo is here. Out of the gray fog that made up his mind when he first woke up, she was this one shining point of certainty, the paired star in the binary system that is the only place he really feels safe. Naturally he's going to express this by yelling about sin, like...what is the alternative? Talk about feelings? Hard pass, thank you ever so much.