"Of course!" Shrieky replies airily, gesturing to the curved scars on the sides of his neck, "They don't really... work as effectively as they should, any longer, but that only means that drinking dirt might end with them permanently clogged up inside my throat, which is certainly not a risk I'm willing to take."

Then he licks his lips and leans forward to study the list, seeking out the word 'moon' with his eyes, before pointing to it, and gesturing to the bartender for her attention.

"This one, please. White with crushed moonflower."