The eighty percent is right and if Peter knows what's good for him, he'll listen to it-- unless he's willing to deal with the hot mess that's halfway leaning across his table now, elbow propped up and cheek in his hand, his lips curved high.

"Hey," Klaus offers in kind, lifting his unoccupied hand to wave while he bats his eyelashes. "Oh, that's what you're hung up on? Come on, we're all still trying to accept it." Another quick twist of his wrist then he lowers that arm over his hip, gives a contemplative tilt of the head.

"Me? I'm the peachiest! I mean, who can honestly complain about free alcohol?" Following a high-pitched giggle, the skinnier man pushes up, shifts around then uses both hands to haul himself up so he can sit on the table, one leg crossing over the other. "And at least these deities are accommodating."