" Her gaze fell upon the bottle sitting on the coffee table directly in front of her. The label declared it to be something called cinnamon whiskey. The bottle was half full. She unscrewed the top, and took a long pull. The fire went directly to her sphincter. Recovery was slow. She couldn’t believe the little man presently busy praying in the bathroom couldn’t hear her gasping for air.

She replaced the cap and studied the bottle’s label. What the hell is cinnamon whiskey anyway? Whoever this little prick is, he is definitely tougher than he looks. "

― Ernest L. Canning , The Bean Sidhe