[Grantaire has been draped unconsciously over the toilet since some difficult to place point of the previous night. Something between the smell of cooking food and the pounding of his headache pulls him inexorably towards consciousness, and before he's even fully there, he's groping for the bottle he dropped last night.
It's mostly spilled now, and the remaining liquid a weird, murky brown that comes from mixing spirits. Still he takes a swig to settle his stomach, and lurches out towards the smell of cooking food all the same.
He is... not entirely surprised to find that someone ended up sleeping on his couch last night, but certainly somewhat surprised to find them awake and stable enough to trust themselves near fire so shortly afterwards. He holds out the bottle to her blearily, in offering.]
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It's mostly spilled now, and the remaining liquid a weird, murky brown that comes from mixing spirits. Still he takes a swig to settle his stomach, and lurches out towards the smell of cooking food all the same.
He is... not entirely surprised to find that someone ended up sleeping on his couch last night, but certainly somewhat surprised to find them awake and stable enough to trust themselves near fire so shortly afterwards. He holds out the bottle to her blearily, in offering.]
For your head, Mademoiselle.