Not implying. Just straight up telling... because that was somehow better. Roxy kept sitting there with a beyond confused look on her face as Quentin kept rambling on. Not that she didn't believe him - hell, there was shit flying around in the house! - but it just seemed random. Then again, he was drunk, and Roxy had seen plenty of drunk people do stupid, drunk things, so maybe he was just making this up...? Maybe?
Then he was talking about a painting. Wait, no, scratch that, the painting. Like Quentin had the Mona Lisa or something locked up in his closet and he was going to go all daVinci code on her ass and predict the end of the world through it. Had Roxy's nerves not been burnt out over that entire day in general, she would have laughed or something. You know, be herself. Except she just continued to sit there, blinking her brown eyes at Quentin, then raised an eyebrow. "...the painting? Um... sure. That'll be cool... I think... Just don't go all Nostradamus on me and tell me I'm going to like, die tomorrow, because I've had enough enough bullshit for one day."