[To knowing yourself, indeed. At least that part, Rosinante figures he's got down himself. It's the presenting oneself to the rest of the world part he's still not sure about.

He gulps his down with far less difficulty, of course - months of this garbage alcohol has worn his throat rawer than it already was - then takes one last draw from his cigarette before snuffing it out in the bottom of the glass. That's enough of both vices, for now. He doesn't laugh at Sora, but there's clearly a teasing smile there at the corner of his mouth.]

Yeah, it's shit. Hard to get good stuff out here without buying it off Pluto and her people, or hoping Rastus gets your order right. But it does the job until then.