At Caesa's question Mercutio's eyes reflect hers, lighting up with amusement. She can even see a smile crawl over his lips where his fingers don't obscure it, cupped around his chin. This must be a joke. She couldn't expect the name trick to work on a devil. Especially if a witch was asking.
"Oh, I think Benvolio will do for now," he says slyly. "I don't think I've used that one in a while.
Vashti, for her part, appears to be somewhat nervous in her surroundings. The frozen mountain bowl is far removed from her natural tropical surroundings. She peers at the crows surrounding her like a cautious duchess suddenly finding herself in the back streets of London surrounded by grubby street urchins. Noting the bird of paradise's concern, Mercutio reaches up with his free hand and absentmindedly scratches the back of her neck.
"So tell me, Ms. Caesa," he continues, ever the curious one, "what are you doing all the way down here in this frozen abyss?"