Poor Lurine.

Ignatius "Iggy" Melville was many things, but remotely affected by female presenting hotties? Not in the way she was probably aiming for.

He turned around and looked over the back of the couch at the goddess descending the stairs.

"Oh my god, I love your robe!"

Yeah.

He shakes her hand enthusiastically enough, though. "Never heard of you. Don't think I'm your target demo. I'm Iggy."

He's interrupted by the radio broadcast, which he listens to with wide eyes.

"Oh, gosh. I dunno. I mean... we're safer in here, right? And there's wine in the fridge. You want some? It's a chardonnay."