Without missing a beat, Ratz acknowledges Zeb's succinct request. "Of course," he rumbles, the servos in his Russian military prosthetic arm whirring to life as he reaches for a bottle of bourbon. He pours a generous amount into a glass, slides it across the bar to Zeb with precision that defies the jerky movements of the limb, and nods with a crooked smile, his steel teeth gleaming briefly in the dim light. "Enjoy, Herr Zeb."

taken in #chatsubo - Ratz