[And Julian allows himself to be dragged in the direction of the bedroom with only one last longing look at the unfinished bottle. When they start to move, though, he becomes acutely aware of how much the world is starting to tilt, that blackness at the corner of his vision threatening to overtake him, now. He's clumsy and unsteady, moves to lean on Geralt's shoulder, and suddenly the other man's suggestion doesn't seem so much like an imposition at all.
No doubt he'll thank him in the morning, when his hangover is just bad, rather than awful.]
Whatever you prefer, of course.
[He's too far gone to have a preference, and even if he did he'd never expect his host to give him preferential treatment.
Once in the bedroom he'll collapse bonelessly onto the right side, as indicated, makes no effort to try and divest himself of any more of his clothes. He's still wearing his gloves, but no matter.]
no subject
No doubt he'll thank him in the morning, when his hangover is just bad, rather than awful.]
Whatever you prefer, of course.
[He's too far gone to have a preference, and even if he did he'd never expect his host to give him preferential treatment.
Once in the bedroom he'll collapse bonelessly onto the right side, as indicated, makes no effort to try and divest himself of any more of his clothes. He's still wearing his gloves, but no matter.]