Jo had to admire his moxy, even if she knew the world didn't quite work like that. All the same, she slipped behind the bar and pulled out some glasses.
"So, Rufio the Pan of here, what type of soda do you like?"
There was no way she was giving a minor alcohol, but she did pour a little bit of whiskey in her own glass. If she wasn't actually dead and was in some sort of bizarre city that she couldn't escape from, this was going to require alcohol.