Magic, for Sage, is a comfort. It isn't something terrifying or dangerous (though, considering his history maybe he should think that), but rather something that gives you a space that is all your own. A way to exist all your own. Finding a place like this, even if it was on an alien moon, where magic was embraced so openly and so powerfully was something that the witch never thought he would get to experience. He is really enjoying it.

And hey, if one of the most well protected and open places also happened to have alcohol? Well didn't that just work out well for Sage.

"Mmm, redecorating? Not all your choice then?" He casts a look about the place and-- well maybe there seem to be a few edges of discordance between the vibes of the place and the vibes of Magnus, but Sage wasn't about to judge either way. He lived in a house in the middle of the swamp decorated with plants and vines and shards of bone.

The question pulls his attention back and he shakes his head. "No, not even a little. It's-- it's kind of comforting to be honest. Even if it isn't the magic I am used to, reminds me of the swamp."

And he means that in the best way possible okay, in that there is protection and the feeling that someone cares, even if it is an ancient power that demands blood.

"I'm usually a straight whiskey sort, but as long as you don't make it too sweet or add cocount, should be good." There is a curl of his lips, something sharp in his eyes. Sage doesn't drink to enjoy the drink; he drinks to forget and get lost in things that are not his own mind or body. Though that is not at all the plan here (yet, habit may lead to him consuming more than he should really). "I also rather enjoy coffee, if that helps at all."

Lives off coffee really. Unfortunately, he is incredibly typical in that sense.