[Plain beautiful is the word for it, and he takes a long, languid moment with gloved palms pressed to glass, his alcohol-blurred glaze taking in the far-flung view of the city beneath, the dazzling array of lights like stars hung too low. He feels a little breathless before it, almost glad, really, to be here. To see something like this. Some journeys may be dark and strange, but there's usually something wonderful in even the worst of them. It rings as true in this alien world as it does of his own home.

Eventually he drags himself away, however, with no small modicum of reluctance, and will probably be glad to discover that Geralt's apartment itself affords such a view. As the other man opens his door Julian moves to slide through it behind him, already swinging his coat from his shoulders and beginning to undo the the clasps of the jacket underneath (though he makes no attempt to divest himself of his ridiculous boots). Making himself at home, it looks like. ]

Certainly clean. I think only the palace in Vesuvia is as clean as this place.

[He says, as he casts his eye about him, though truthfully his views align with Geralt's-- its all a little stark and sterile for his tastes, a far cry from the cosy low-slung buildings and bright decor he's accustomed to seeing (even if most of the buildings outside of the palace back home don't afford him much in the way of head height).

Once inside, he claps his hands together. Smiles his big, rogish smile.]

So here we are, safe and sound, no more fear of passing out in the street. Which means it must be time for gin!