Sven took the bottle from Samata, turning it in his hands. "I don't know where we're supposed to find ice in this climate, but we at least have rum. Twin pina coladas, coming up."

Unfortunately, alongside the absent ice, they didn't have little paper umbrella straws to hand either. Sven was no barkeep, so he eyeballed a hefty serving of rum for each his and Samata's glasses--going heavy on the spirits was an easy game when you had healing fire magic that let you burn off alcohol to wake up sober and fresh as a daisy--and poured in the pina colada mix.

He gave Samata her glass, then knocked the rim of his own against hers with a grin. "Cheers to clear skies, good friends, and an eclectic selection of drinks."