Linden winces, knowing even as she starts to tip back the bottle that she's going for it too eagerly and recklessly for a palette that is undoubtedly at least a little bit more delicate than his own. When she coughs, splutters and shudders in response to the acrid taste, he automatically slides the glass of water at his elbow toward her, essentially trading it for the whiskey she is returning to him.

He doesn't drink more, though, simply turning the bottle in his hands and staring at it while he waits for Nill to recover somewhat.

"It's horrible, I know. I stopped drinking for the taste a long time ago... the downside of tolerance is that the higher it gets, the more it takes."