Frankie lifted the glass and looked at it for a moment with a determined expression. "Thanks," he said, tipping it slightly towards the barman as a gesture. "Here's to... to going home as soon as humanly possible." He tipped the contents of the glass down his throat. He'd seen people do it like that, many times. He'd grown up in a pub, after all. For a moment he felt nothing, then the burning aftertaste came on with a vengeance and he shuddered. "Nice," he said, though it came out as more of a choking gasp. Bloody hell. It taste wasn't bad exactly, but people actually enjoyed that sensation? Maybe it was something you had to get used to.