Thicker Than Blood

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

The drink the tavern keeper was preparing was colourful, layered, and seemed to have a light fizz to it. Not at all the sort of beverage Pat expected for a rough adventuring watering hole like this.
“What’s that?”
Though he had no intention of trying it, he was now curious.
“Special order.” The tavern keeper said brusquely. “Dragon recipe.”
Pat’s eyebrows vanished under his jaunty cap brim. “How many dragons do you get ordering here?”
For no other species would ever try consuming something meant for dragons - those creatures were woven of alchemy and raw wild magic, and their diet reflected this. You’d be lucky if you only sprouted an extra limb or something.
“Just one. But she comes in every day at about this time, and appreciates her order being ready.”
Pat squinted at the seemingly ordinary front door, then around the room in case he’d somehow missed an entrance big enough for a dragon. “How does she get in?”
The tavern keeper heaved a weary sigh. What, had he been hoping Pat would get bored of the topic and let it drop? “She’s an adopted dragon. Apparently they found a baby lizardfolk and…”
“What??” Pat scrutinised him, certain this had to be some poor attempt at a tall tale. “But being adopted wouldn’t-”
“Nobody’s won that argument.” The tavern keeper grumbled. “Not that I can stop you trying.”
“Yeah?” Pat raised an eyebrow and pointedly settled onto the nearest bar stool. “Well, when you’re done with that, I’ll have a pint of ale.”
While he waited to see this so-called “dragon”.
Clearly she was punctual, for the tavern keeper had barely set down Pat’s ale when through the front door strode… an entirely typical looking lizardfolk. About five foot tall, built wiry, her scales a dusty green which would blend in well with a forest. While winged lizardfolk were rare enough to be notable, one would hardly turn heads even in a backwater like this.
Without pause she headed straight for the bar, slapped down a handful of coins, grabbed the fizzing, unnaturally coloured cocktail, and before Pat’s poleaxed gaze downed half in a single gulp.
“Ahh!” She belched a small purple cloud and grinned. “Just what I needed, Will. Ta.”
“It’s what you always need after work.” The tavern keeper retorted with a wry smile.
“Well, yeah.” The lizardfolk dropped onto a stool, her tail absently twining around its stem, and took another long drink.
Then she looked at Pat, who was still staring, flared her snout ridges, and scoffed “What, never seen a dragon before?”
“Er…” Pat scrabbled for a response. “Not in a tavern.”
“So?” She scoffed. “It’s not illegal, now is it? I’m a full adult, I’ll have you know. A hundred and sixty-three this autumn!”
“A hundred and…??”
“Yeah. Dragons age slow.”
Pat shot Will a helpless glance. The tavern keeper ignored him.
This had to be some joke, right? Though lizardfolk were typically long-lived, they’d be proper elderly past a hundred years. She had to be pulling his leg.
Pointing to her drink, the remains of which were bubbling as she swirled it around the glass, Pat asked “What’s that made of?”
“Don’t try and order it!” She said earnestly. “It’s mostly acids. Got dissolved silver and stuff in it. Would probably go right through your tongue. A lovely pick-me-up for dragons, death to anyone else.”
“Uh… huh.”
She definitely wasn’t a dragon. They were proportioned completely differently to lizardfolk, and had oblong overlapping scales rather than round pebbly ones, and a hundred other details he couldn’t bring to mind right now because this batty lizardfolk was drinking acids.
Was this slight of hand? Illusions? Had he banged his head on the way in??
“Staring’s rude, you know.” The totally-not-a-dragon-what-the-hell said disapprovingly.
“S-sorry.” Pat forced a smile. “Let me apologise by buying you another drink.”
“Ooh, well, if you’re offering…” She quaffed the rest of the alchemical hazard and pushed the glass across to Will.
“I, uh…” Actually, Pat still had most of his ale, and really didn’t want to rush it. He was having a hard enough time keeping track of this conversation as is. “I’ll have a plate of cheesy soldiers, please.”
“Right you are.”
As Will set about preparing their order, Pat turned back to the lizardfolk. “My name’s Pat. I’m passing through headed northeast. May I ask your name?”
“It’s-”
Despite being well-travelled, Pat had no idea how to even start pronouncing those syllables.
“-but non-dragons tend to call me Tillit.”
“Ah, yeah. Nice to meet you, Tillit.” Pat hesitated, trying to figure out how to crack this conversational nut. “I, uh, I mean no offence, but… you’re very small, for a hundred and sixty-three year-old dragon.”
“Humph!” Her tail-tip lashed in a way which made it clear she’d taken offence. “I’m aware, thank you. While I appreciate your concern, I get by just fine.”
“Oh, er, I’m glad to hear that…”
Will was still adroitly avoiding eye contact.
“So, I heard you’re, um, adopted?”
“Yep.”
Completely nonchalant. Didn’t bat an eye.
Pat floundered, then pressed on. “Then, uh, you’re not… I mean, you’ve grown up amongst dragons, but you’re not…”
“Ugh. You’re on of those people.” Her snout ridges flushed green with annoyance. “My father is a dragon. My mother’s a dragon. Ergo, I’m a dragon. Just like my siblings and grandparents and everyone else. Honestly…”
Pat looked between her half-finished toxic drink and her. Helplessly wondering if the dragons had worked absurd alchemy, or whether delusion-based magic existed. “Can you fly, then?”
“Of course! All dragons can fly.”
“Uh-huh.”
Lizardfolk could manage short stretches, mostly gliding.
“Can you fly while carrying something?”
“You’ve clearly never seen dragons carrying stags back to their lair.”
“You - there’s no way you can carry a stag!”
“Psh. I delivered a box of plate mail today.”
“That…” Pat blinked, shook his head, then leant back and said “Right. Sure. Then maybe you can help me. As I said, I’m headed northeast…”

Prompt was “Describe a cocktail, and build a character based on the sort of person who would drink it.”