Oh, how he's dying to point out the irony of a consent slogan being tossed at him in the midst of a Bacchanalia. How did Aaron last so long pretending to be a milquetoast public relations officer? Putting on his best pathetic expression, he keeps his hands tucked in the safety of his blazer until both satyrs turn around.

Then the pulls out his switchblade and flicks the blade open.

His first target is the satyr with the better work ethic. He takes a stab just below the ribcage -- if he's lucky, he'll puncture a lung, if he's not, he's hoping it's still enough of a distraction to grab his sword.