The cork pops out of the bottle and Quorra screams. It hits the ceiling, begins its rapid descent back toward them—but before anyone’s face can get hit, Tron reaches out and snatches the cork straight out of the air. Then he turns around, his body arcing, and launches it perfectly into the trash can at the other side of the apartment.
It’s dead silent for a moment. Sam stares at them, the wine bottle in his hands, and they stare back at him.
“Okay?” he eventually says. “You guys need to calm down. It’s just a wine cork.”
Quorra clears her throat. It’s a habit she learned from a TV show and finds very useful. “Sorry,” she says. “Kind of.”
“Why does the bottle have a cork?” Tron asks.
“To keep the—I’ve already explained this,” Sam says. “It’s to keep the wine fresh.”
“But the orange juice doesn’t have a cork.”
“I—yeah, okay. You’re right, Tron, the orange juice does, in fact, not have a cork.”
“It has one of the twisty caps.”
Sam huffs a sigh. “Yes, it has one of the twisty caps.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier for the wine to have a twisty cap?” Quorra asks. “It seems like it would be easier if the wine had a twisty cap.”
“Some wines have twisty caps,” Sam replies through clenched teeth.
“Then why didn’t you get a wine with a twisty cap instead?”
“Quorra has a point, Sam.”
“I wouldn’t have screamed and almost… ‘died’? Is that the word?”
“Sam,” Tron says seriously. “Quorra has a point.”
“Fine,” Sam exclaims suddenly. “Neither of you gets wine tonight.”
Quorra’s scream of disappointment is even worse than her scream of fear.