"The wine very likely won't kill you," says a calm voice, belonging to someone who looks quite a bit more comfortable in the toga than Jon currently does. Ganymede has by now at least made himself look presentable, and braided his hair back from his face; the collar for him is simple, a thin leather braid with a single pearl sitting at the base of his throat. He carries himself comfortably; this is all old and familiar for him, short of the amount of mortals he's used to seeing in this kind of place.