[Sure, the place is a dive, with dim lighting and days-old smoke hanging in the air that spares her the teasing a blush would've gotten. Nothing short of total darkness would have stopped him spotting the face she pulls at the taste of her drink, though.

He barely suppresses his laughter, constraining himself to a small smirk as he motions the bartender over.

While she speaks, he gestures at his own drink and holds up two fingers. By the time she's hit that second Mnemosyne two more shots are on the bar, and he trades one for her glass of vaguely wine-flavored swill.]

I'll take that. Valiant effort, you should be proud. [And he'll just be setting the glass down again as far from the two of them as he can reach.] Wouldn't push that shit on my worst enemy. So, what's so beautiful about Mnemosyne? Can't have been the locals.