Tuck's eyes flit over to Vyng to catch his reaction, but the half-elf doesn't look concerned. Neither does the bartender. He finger guns with a straight-face and pulls out a dark bottle, topping off a short glass with the stuff.

"Here, kid. And good luck." He sets it down on their table, and Tucks begins slapping the table in rhythm.

"Ana-kin! Ana-kin! ANA-KIN!" Tuck begins chanting with excited cheer.