Well, he apparently seemed to be picking poor topics.
He was trying to do both. Because really, lingering on what couldn't be changed or worrying about what had been done to her wasn't going to do her any good.
Of course he followed her, with another bottle of something else. He'd just grabbed a few bottles from the grocery shop besides whiskey. Cracking open what he had in his hand, he took a long drink.
Rum. Not his drink of choice, but it wasn't bad. Tasted of vanilla. Must be flavored. The label was in Spanish, so he could only really guess. Settling down on on the sofa, Cathair frowned.
"What's a roofie?" he asked. Yes, he lived under a rock. Or more, in a bookshop and his knowledge of popular culture was pretty much restricted to popular literature.