Erandur and Maryanne
Maryanne tipped her head forward in acknowledgement of his needing stronger stuff. He was lucky, even the stronger stuff didn't help her. It had to be special made, and geared toward her kind, or those like her. She filled his glass, just sparing the rim. And offering a cheeky grin after she did. "I know who you are. I'm Maryanne." Her accent was rich, and robustly Southern, if he could tell the difference it was clearly an Alabamian accent. And she gave just the first name. It hurt too much to give anything else. And to give her maiden name felt like a disservice to Clint.
"You might want to start with a sip first, and see how it hits you. It's something knocked a couple born mutants, and a couple made mutants on their ass. And the strongest human booze doesn't. Not even that stuff." She nodded toward the barrel on the top shelf. And briefly wondered how the vampire would get it down now that she didn't have the strength anymore.