[Discord continues smiling benignly, and absently sabotages the ketchup and mustard bottles while he's waiting. He quickly tires of this pettiness, however, and brings the glass in front of him to his lips for a taste.]

[After deciding this particular glass vintage must have been a bad production year, he nevertheless chews happily on its lip, glancing around both to find yet more objects to torment and to watch for the morose mare.]

"Serfuse hee reawy is quie poo..." Maybe he'll speak to the manager later.