Regulus made a face, torn between a strange interest in the muggle traditions related to alcohol (he couldn't believe it really mattered what type of glass it was in) and annoyance at being corrected. He decided to focus more on the mission at hand: getting totally sloshed. Besides, wasn't it a good thing that he didn't automatically know how the muggles did things like this? Yes, yes it was. But damn it if those muggles didn't have some good alcohol. Not as good as firewhisky, but still good nonetheless.
"Alright then," he replied to Severus, pouring himself his own shot. It seemed odd, these tiny little glasses, but when in Rome. Or something. He tossed the shot down his throat and grimaced slightly at the now familiar burn.
He could feel the tingle from the alcohol creeping up on him, but he had the feeling that after a few more drinks like this, it wouldn't have the manners to creep up on him but would, in fact, slap him across the face. Regulus grinned at the thought. He was still a bit of a kid, after all. And after dying and having the possibility of dying again, he was determined to have his fun while he could. And forget those little buggers who'd told him the future.