That gets a dry laugh, which gets cut off briefly by a short cough when he winces - and when he lifts a hand to rub his neck, Crichton will definitely spot the bruising around his neck, just fresh enough to turn those really nasty colours.

"Gin, triple sec, uh- white wine and absinthe?" He shrugs a shoulder as he lowers his hand. "Couldn't really tell you, I don't do business on your side of the bar for a reason. Tastes like lemons and a car battery, supposed ta be able to wake the dead."