:lion_face: Later that evening, Vince steps into the bar, absently pushing the door open as he glances around. A chuckle as he spies the empty bottles and glasses at the bar, and peers around until he locates the source of snoring by the fire. A throw blanket procured and lightly tucked around Inish, and then he goes to tidy the bar.
Before heading out, he leaves a full water glass and a note next to the slumbering clurichaun:
“Dear future me, drink this. From, past me.”
Surely Inish will be glad that he had such foresight in the morning when he awakes.
Until he takes a gulp of the glass filled with vodka, and determines, “Past me is an ARSE.”