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Rob nodded and pondered. "Nothing too heavy…" Ah, he knew just the thing. Going over to the fridge, he rummaged through the bottles (of which there were many) and pulled out a rather festive-looking one. "This'll do nicely. It's a winter ale -- warm, but not too heavy, despite it being a rather dark beer, an' not bitter at all. Kind of sweet, actually. I think you'll like it."

He popped the top off the bottle, then retrieving a glass from the top of the fridge, he poured the dark brew expertly. "Here you go, love," he said, handing the glass to Misha. "Like I said, don't be put off by the color -- it's not as heavy as it looks."

Then he sat down next to her on the bed, a smile on his face as he watched her.

"Anchor Winter Ale," Rob nodded, pleased he'd made a good choice. "Anchor is in San Francisco -- they make a steam beer too that's really nice. Someday I'd like to add a winter warmer to my beer-making arsenal." He chuckled and added, "Someday I'd like to try a lot of things. I'll get to 'em though. I'm stubborn like that."

Taking a sip of his own beer, he shook his head. "An' no, I never been a bartender, or worked at a bar. Not in London, not in San Francisco either. I just like beer a lot," he grinned before taking a nice deep draught from his bottle.

"It's a type of beer brewed in California since the Gold Rush," Rob replied, pleased that he actually had the answer. "They didn't have refrigeration back then, so they pumped the wort -- that's the beer ingredients all mixed together and boiled so it ferments -- up to vats on the roof of the brewery so the cool air coming off the Pacific Ocean would cool it. Also lets little local yeasts in there to add their own flavor. It's basically a lager that drinks like an ale. Creamy mouth-feel, lots of bubbles."

He finished off his beer and smiled at Misha. "Girly drinks, huh? What's your favorite?"

"That doesn't sound like alcohol," Rob laughed, "it sounds like nail polish." He shook his head and waved his hand. "I'm jokin', I'm jokin'. Spirits is something I don't know a whole lot about. I know I like a certain type of whisky, but I couldn't tell you why, or what's the difference between types of vodka -- which I don't even drink that stuff. So in this instance, you've got the edge on me knowledge-wise," he smiled at her with a tilt of his head. "That said, I'm willin' to give just about anything a go at least once." He waggled his eyebrows at her and snorted a laugh.

Rob felt the color rise in his cheeks. "Yeah, it was a bit of alright," he shrugged with a lopsided grin. "I didn't tell him to shove off, did I? That was a fun time, passin' all the kisses around. I was high as a bloody kite too, you know." The grin became wicked; it had probably been pretty obvious at the time that he was stoned as well as drunk, though given the state of most of the rest of the party goers his state might have been easily overlooked.

He looked down at the hoodie again. "I'm gonna have to think of some way to repay you for this. Yeah yeah, I know, Xenia and all that. I still want to, though."

"I insist, though. Maybe I'll bring you something warm from San Francisco or London next time I go back. Michigan here is a bit colder than Philadelphia, I reckon." Rob glanced over at Misha and squeezed her hand in return, then went back to admiring the hoodie. He absolutely loved the screen-printed design, and it was so cozy and fleecy it warmed him up right through. It was going to be so snuggly beneath his leather jacket. Almost like getting a hug from Misha.

Speaking of hugs… He scooted closer to her and wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug against his chest and kissing the top of her head again. "Sorry, I couldn't resist," he smiled into her hair. "Thank you again."

"Which isn't out of the realm of possibility, is it, Siberia?" Rob chuckled. Giving Misha one last squeeze, he let her go with a quick rub along her back. "Well, I reckon you got other places to be. Don't want to keep you from your appointed rounds. I'm sure there are other poor souls out there waitin' for their share of Misha." He grinned and winked at her to let her know he was teasing her. "Thank you again."

Rob chuckled. "Shakespeare, eh? I can roll with that." He returned the knowing look, fully aware that she was aware of her powers of attraction. "You're the hottest commodity, love. An' I promise, I won't be a stranger. Maybe I'll come round with some beer or sommat. We can have a nice little party."

He watched her leave, admiring the view as she walked away; she was just as hot leaving as she was arriving. Nope, don't stand a ghost of a chance with her, he thought with a soft snort. But she was turning out to be a good, cuddly friend, and that was plenty good enough.

Shifting position slightly, Rob picked up his guitar and positioned it in his lap again. Shakespeare, she'd called him. He figured it was a pet name, and in all honesty he didn't mind, though he was no poet or playwright. Idly he fingered out "Greensleeves" on the guitar. He'd definitely have to come up with some way to thank her for the cozy awesome hoodie. Maybe a song...