"Are you going to hit me over the head again and undo all the witchcraft you've already worked on me?" Tommy asks with mild aplomb. "I know what a straw is, love. Just never seen one with a curve on it."

He sips the water. He'd prefer whiskey. Hell, at this rate, he'd prefer vodka and he's pretty sure satan himself made vodka.

"You're worried over nothing," he says, as if his vision weren't a cloud and his head weren't throbbing incessantly.