1236USY.9d/1m.1805h
It took eighteen minutes for the ship to arrive and another three for the pilot to arrive.
And what a pilot it is.
He is, by your honest estimation, at least seven feet tall. His milky-grey head skin is marred with wrinkles, boils and sickly growths. His left eye is missing and and was not replaced with a cybernetic prosthetic, which is quite surprising. His space suit is more like some sort of armor - rivets and screws visibly sticking out of its surface, and you have a feeling that some of these are actually piercing him through and into the bone.
Perhaps the armor doubles as a support cage for his body.
As he walks closer to the bar, you realize that his boots are not boots - his feet have been replaced with talon-like appendages, fully synthetic. They resemble bird's talon, given the angle of separation between the digit and some sort of hi-heel at the back. His right arm has just a power glove, but the left hand is covered in the same sort of power armor as his torso and legs.
When he sits down at the counter, you notice few white, sickly hairs growing at top of his head, and more importantly, a hexagonal implant embedded in his neck, wires disappearing into his armor, and one plugged to a socket at the right side of his neck.
Even when seated, this hulking giant of a man is still taller than you.
"HELLO BARKEEP." The hexagonal voice-box speaks for the man in a raspy, synthetic tone.
"Hello there, what can I get you?" He smiles softly.
"SOMETHING SWEET. THE STRONGER THE BETTER. AND KEEP IT UNDER HUNDRED CREDITS PLEASE." He needs to pause and take few deep breaths through his nostrils, which flare wider than any other human's. It seems that synthetic communication tires him easily.
Something sweet and strong, huh?
Sweet and fiery perhaps? Very sweet??
A) Offer him a shot of...
*A) Grenadiere
*B) Sucrosol
*C) Wet Jet
*D) Pontifex
*E) Dee-Tee
B) (Insert the name of a drink mix that you know and that might fulfill these requirements)
C) "Sorry, but you could be a little more specific?"