"I don’t think you understand how this works. See, this is a transaction. An exchange of goods. Back in ye olden times, they called it a barter. If I give you this beer," And the bottle she holds up is frosty, imported, and the oaken smell wafts towards him. Good and strong.
"You tell me. Otherwise I’m pretty sure I will regret watching that movie forever and sleep is a thing that won’t happen. Ever again."
John took a look past the bottle of liquid gold at the face behind it. Without missing a beat, he grabbed hold of said bottle while keeping an eye on the woman in front of him. He glanced at the label at hand — not that the brand mattered; Alcohol is alcohol to John Constantine.
"I’ll tell you exactly what it’s like," He took a quick swig of drink, the fresh, smooth slathered around his tongue and down the nicotine parched throat. "It’s nothing like the movies. Worse.”