[She's still very much In the Wine Zone when he addresses her and at first, Beatrix is almost certain he doesn't mean her at all. In hindsight, it should be obvious, really. There's no shortage of people in Reverein who are still calling her that. 'Madame' this, 'madam' that, a little dash of 'miss,' and the ever rare 'lady' over there. Little by little, she's stomping all of that down beneath heeled boots. Usually proverbially.

Herlock follows up his own address with self-imposed interjection which winds up being a collective of sneezes. Unfortunate, that. She's lost count after three, mostly because her one very good eye is fixed on the contents of his glass. Just... to see if any of it ends up on the floor. Or on her. Or on someone else. Things could get very... interesting with this guy around.

A crease forms in the furrow of her brow at his explanation. Allergies. Right.]

If not the death of you, quite possibly the death of someone else. Mayhap put your glass down before you end up pouring it all over yourself.

[Better him than her, though. She'll be hard-pressed to keep restraint on her temper if the alternative occurs.]