'...I'm gonna go out on a limb here,' Deprave muttered with a roll of his eyes, nabbing the Power-Pint from Betty as he talked (Grog had given consent for that, right? Yeah, totally, probably, and he didn't need consent anyway), 'and guess that what that is is a spirit, which does some sort of shocking. Like, electrical... ity, and lightning and that shit. Stuff people started using a couple of centuries back or whatever. That's something the riddle pointed out.' As he talked, he turned the mug this way and that, trying to figure out how the damn thing worked, anyway. Grog always used verbal commands, but if he could just will it to fill with, say, xocolatl...

Oh, it really WAS filling with xocolatl! And judging from the smell, as well as a quick sip flooding his mouth with a familiar, yet long-forgotten taste of spice and bitterness, it was the actual stuff he was used to: nicely chilled, a good foam on top, really high quality ingredients, and certainly not that mouth-burning, over-sweetened "hot chocolate" crap that had apparently replaced it since then. Shit, he hadn't had good stuff like this since before he'd died!

'...if anybody interrupts me, they die,' he managed to get out, before promptly upending the Power-Pint over his wide-open mouth, chugging a stream of xocolatl that was apparently endless, and GODS, he could just spend forever and a day drinking and drinking and drinking and... he might give this mug back to Grog eventually. Some day. Maybe.