"Oh." Neil looks at the liquid swirling in the shot glass, assessing the contents. He politely ignores any unnatural movements coming from the other man, and with a shrug, he tips the glass back into his mouth. The tequila burns slowly down his throat, leaving behind a funny aftertaste.

Neil makes a face at the glass. Tequila, unfortunately, is no whiskey.

"Wetness and texture?" he echoes to Arcade, wiping his mouth.