"Right," says Johnny vaguely - that sort of makes sense. And he knows a lot of rifties have a certain sway over dreams, a natural ability to make changes. He can do it sometimes, just... not like that. He shrugs. "I'm fine."

He selects a beautiful old bottle of either whiskey or scotch - or possibly rye? - and pours a roughly measured double shot into a nice, clean-looking snifter. "Drink?" he offers.