The bartender walked right past the common stuff, the labels Luke could recognize or at least make guesses about, straight to a dusty bottle in the back.  The glass was opaque (or the bar was too dark), and the liquid sloshed quietly in the bottle as it was picked up.  Luke watched the older man pour out two tumbler's worth-- he called him 'kid', which Luke didn't mind, he was a kid in a lot of ways-- and he took the tiny glass when offered.<br/><br/>He could smell the alcohol, intense and burning in his nose even from the counter.  It smelled<i>hot</i>, the only descriptor that made sense, and Luke knew it was going to hurt.  The bartender drank his, barely making a face as he did so, but he did have to sniffle as the liquor went down.  Powerful stuff... good.  His voice even sounded different, still deep and gravely, but now rasping at the edges.<br/><br/>Luke didn't answer right away, shrugging as he picked up the tumbler.  He paused for a second, then downed the whole thing, a mistake that he felt immediately.<i>Fire in a glass</i>.  The young man coughed hard, eyes watering and lips puckering, a wince on his slim features; he set the glass down, grabbing the counter and then letting go once the coughing was done.  Embarrassing, maybe, that he can't handle his drinks the same way, but... didn't really matter right then.<br/><br/>Luke wiped at his eyes, cleared his throat, and gave the bartender (Eddy?  Probably Eddy.) a faintly crooked smile.  "It's getting better."  His voice hurt to push out, but at least he wasn't cold anymore, the whiskey warming him from the inside out.  "Yours?"