He moves with her as she detaches herself from the crowd, ducking into the entrance of a side-street carved into rock. The light here throbs an eerie blue, casts stark shadows over the high angles of his face. There's a sharpness to his features that wasn't there upon his arrival, an increase in angularity that he hasn't, yet, quite discerned.

"Hah!" the sound is a strange one, light but bitter edged, "you and I both, my dear. Though I can't say I know whether it's a common practice among Harpies. I've always been prone to a spot of over-indulgence."

And when the world twists strangely around you, when your body is changing in ways you never would have thought possible...drinking oneself towards sweet oblivion seems a better answer than most. There's a momentary delay before he answers her question, only the slightest tensing of his broad shoulders giving any indication towards his continued misgivings.

"I've er...well. They're going. Some feathers, you know. My hands are...different. And I have this abominable ache in my legs and shoulder blades that suggests...something," he has seen enough native Harpies to have an idea of just what that suggests, still remembers the vast dark shape of himself from the dream.