"Someday I'll be completely immune to every poison on earth, even mine," Marek said easily. "Maybe you should invent a charm to make a bezoar stay in my stomach. Or I'll get one surgically implanted."
He was rambling, yes, but he had just almost been poisoned. Most people who had done what he'd just done wouldn't even be talking, so he figured he could be forgiven. He paused, putting a hand on the wall to rest; as if on cue to his thoughts, his muscles had gone weak. He knew this process; he would probably be sick before the night was over, but he would be just fine. Better than fine, because his body would be even better at tolerating poisons after another brush with them.
"I'll be fine," he promised. Tonight's brew would probably be ruined, since he hadn't put it away for the night properly, but that was alright. "I might not even get a headache from it, since it's supposed to leave the brain alone."