By this time Blaise didn't care where he was. A table at Finnigan's, a booth at the Hog's Head, some random bird's flat, or his own bed, any of them wold work. "Not my type," he reminded Marcus as he stood or rather stumbled his way out of his seat.
At least when he got wherever he was going for the night he would definitely sleep well. Better than he would have had his brain been functioning properly so as to keep him wondering all night long.