Julian Grayson The young man had thought he'd seen and tasted it all back in the day, but as the aroma of the beverage (where in Sirius did they brew that stuff?!) drilled its way up his nose, he was quick to reconsider and accept his mistake. But there was no going back now: it was either losing his face, or the contents of his stomach. Or both. Luckily, he hadn't eaten before coming here.
He pulled the glass with his hand, looking down at the contents and trying not to inhale or smell it. Then, with a quick move he swigged the glass, hoping that the liquid wouldn't touch his tongue and go straight down the throat—that way he'd avoid tasting "the best part". The plan worked with moderate success: it still felt like kissing the north end of a south-bound goat, and the liquid was throat-burning, so the young man only had to grab the counter with his both hand and wheeze out, trying to regain his lost breath and regretting his choice of beverage.
After a couple of seconds spent like that, he recovered and wiped his eyes with one hand, his expression not so smug now, but exhausted. Wiping his face again, he now looked "somewhat" normal. But then the alcohol kicked in. A little shaky, the man pushed the glass away and replied coarsely: "Thanks. You serve any food here? I'd chase it down."
