Though his usual demeanour might suggest otherwise, Grady isn't a fan of drinking alone. Before everything happened (he's starting to think of it as the "Before Death" time), he hadn't been much of a fan of drinking, period. He can't handle it well, ends up in pain and regretting it more often than not, though admittedly he does enjoy the chance to kvetch about it afterwards. But now, things are different in so many ways, most of them more painful than a simple hangover, so he reasons he might as well give it a chance.

He's not so much sprawled over the booth that happens to be in the darkest corner of the Hair of The Dog, but he's making the most of what room he has, feet up on the seats opposite and one arm stretched out, fingers drumming idly on the polished wood. He's drawing circles in spilled beer on the tabletop as he squints across the miniature cityscape of empty bottles and glasses at his new friend.

"So when you say magic you mean like.." He waves a hand in what's probably supposed to be an eloquent gesture. "Not like.. bunnies out of hats."