Jason shakes, that same smooth politician's shake of a kid who was raised in a three-piece suit more often than not. It's like a shibboleth between the old families here, and Jason can't help but think of the way animals sniff each other to make sure they're part of the same pack. Nor can he help himself from thinking of himself a little bit as a dog on its back, belly exposed.

He makes a sound that's amused but sounds almost disgruntled. "God knows half the people here talks about having those good enough reasons more than they actually have them." He tips his head over at Oceana, relaying a story that requires her to place her hands out as if she were measuring a fish (or something else).

"I wish my charges had your work ethic. I'm laying down ground rules, but with their attitudes it's going to be miraculous if I ever see them all up before noon."