"Love potions. That shit'll get you set for life, even if you make it out of cow piss and mosquito larvae," he replied with a snicker and another sip of his drink. He paused, glancing back over at the guy. "Sorry. Shouldn't assume everyone's as not squeamish as I am." Or as irreverent, but Emerson was never going to apologize for that.
"Hey, I'd appreciate the audience. Music tends to take better when your parents aren't the one's insisting you learn it." He winced at the blacking out thing, though. Christ, were all the witches he was destined to meet blackout drunks? "Might wanna, you know, not get to the backing out part. Don't imagine that's a lot of fun."