Very well, then. You can teleport me to the hot springs, and then if you're so keen on it, you can ride the bloody chicken for the three days it takes to get there.

[She lifts her head briefly, considering the alcohol. Does she want more? Ye-es? But maybe not right this second, she's at that lovely warm state of being heavily tipsy without outright drunk.

Rosalind sighs and scoots up, til she can tuck her face into the crook of his neck.]