[If he ever finds out about the unicorn thing, he's going to be deeply displeased that Geralt chose to withhold the information.

For now though...despite the alcoholic haze that has well and truly settled over him, he still discerns the shape of that look, the exasperation written there. And so he laughs, reaches over to playfully shove Geralt's arm.]

Don't give me that look. Maybe even you will get into the swing of things, once you've spent a bit of time here. There must be a reason for it, after all. Our designations.

[It's what he believes at any rate, what he can't help believing-- that even outside of his own raging masochism, something like this is what he deserves. That he is a second-rate citizen, and that the system here has seen through him, down to the worthless centre of himself.]