He scrubs his hand over his head, like he's trying to comb his hair (what little there is to comb). Curtis eyes the tiny flask and visibly steels himself.

"Okay," he says under his breath. He accepts the flask. Flips open the top. With that familiar, crooked smile, he lifts it in a toast -- "Bottoms up," he says, a touch ironic -- and downs the contents in one go.

...Holy shit, that tastes terrible. Milliways has gotta be making him soft, if he thinks water that's kind of got the mustiness of old well-water tastes this --

Everything lurches sideways, nearly taking Curtis with it. Eyes wide, already going glassy, he shoots out a hand to catch himself, palm hitting the floor hard enough to make an audible smack.