"Mm-hm." As if to prove the point, not that there is much of one to be made, Lambert takes another swig of his nasty Witcher cocktail. "And now, so are you." maybe the man has more going on under his skin to, or the raven feathers hint at a nature that isn't entirely human...

"You sound like Vesemir. 'Young man, that is meant for alchemy, not your stomach. Put that down at once!''" He deepens his voice and wags a finger at Childermass like he's a schoolboy, squaring his shoulders until he's standing at rigid attention. He only holds it for a couple of seconds before he lets it drop again, reaching to take his cup and drain it dry. Conveniently, that means he can pour the last of the whiskey and White Gull into it, reclaiming the empty bottle.

"A toast to bad decisions, then?" He lifts his glass, raising a brow.