"Nice." He grins back, guileless, and sips down a mouthful of something decidedly alcoholic. The Real, he doesn't drink. He can't drink, thanks to the medication he's so very religious about taking. Missing out, more like. The slick burn at the back of his throat - he wouldn't give that up for anything.

Well, all right. He would give it up for some things. But sure as hell not for some measly pills.

"Snow telling what's gonna come next, right?"