[Truthfully? The answer is whiskey, at least for Fenris. Brandy goes down just as dizzily, but there's something delightfully oaken about whiskey that appeals to him. But without a moment's hesitation, Fenris answers:]

Brandy.

[He gives Violet a little glance, smug and pointed, and gets rewarded with a scoff. 'You're a liar,' she declares with a sniff, 'and you'd say that no matter what he brought you.'

Which is absolutely the truth, and Fenris doesn't bother to deny it, shrugging one shoulder.]

Ask me something difficult, and perhaps you'll give me a challenge. But do you truly expect me to pick—

['I expect you to have an opinion,' she says. 'Or are you just his dog?'

It isn't all that insulting, in truth, but the children seem to think so, for Petras lets out a cooing little ooh of challenge.]

I said brandy because I meant it— and because the whiskey you so thoughtfully brought me was tainted by the magic it was stowed in. Alluring though the thrill of the illicit is, magic has a particularly sour taste that my nanites draw out. Thus: brandy.

Shall I settle your favorite drug next?

[For a moment it seems as though she might snap— but then she exhales sharply, rolling her eyes once more. 'Oh, don't be tiring,' she says, and leans down more. Her palms slide over Fenris' shoulders and down his chest, impudent (and painful, though he doesn't wince). 'When are you coming out to dance? Answer me that instead.']