"Why the hell," demanded Grantaire, "are you ordering lait de poule? I hadn't taken you for someone who'd drink milk with eggs in it just because it's the holidays."
"Oh, Grantaire," said Courfeyrac with a wide smile, sitting down across from him, "I am not having simple lait de poule. I am having eggnog." He delightedly mangled the English syllables. "Milk with eggs in it, yes. But sugar, nutmeg, and then the addition of rum, brandy, bourbon, or sherry."
Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "If you want festive drinks, Courfeyrac, stick to punch. Or even cider. Better yet, forgo festivities and stick to the brandy and bourbon themselves."
Courfeyrac shook his head. "Come on, my dear fellow—this is an experiment! I'll order a glass for you as well."
"I gave up milk after I was nine years old, thank you."
"No you didn't."
"Did."
"Rude of you to break off the friendship, then. I must reacquaint you with it—it's grown up since then."
Grantaire drained his glass. "Courfeyrac, you are impossible."
Courfeyrac gave his most charming grin. "What's your alcoholic addition of choice?"
