It still impresses Sharky every time he sees the drinks poured without anybody touching anything. Ghosts, magic, or some wild technology -- whatever it is, Sharky's just glad he doesn't have to pay or plan for bar nights. When he wants a drink, all he has to do is point at what Maeve's already ordered and it's all taken care of.

"As far as I can tell, it's all legit." He takes a relative-for-him conservative sip of his own drink, which does indeed taste like whiskey. Good whiskey, too, not something blended together out of several nearly-empty bottles scavenged out of empty houses. "I dunno how they make it all. I haven't bothered asking. Sorta like looking a gift horse in the mouth, y'know?"