It takes quite a lot of alcohol for a ghoul to get drunk. Especially for a man like Cooper, who had built up an intolerance over two hundred years. It wouldn't take an entire liter of moonshine to get the man drunk.

Yet here he was, absolutely wasted on the couch. His eyes were squinting and un-squinting as he looked at the roof, as if trying to make out the little swirlies that twinkled above him. His head lulled to the side, and he squinted at them. He took a long time to speak, as it was a very important thing he was trying to say, of course.

“...I want... grilled cheese.”