Joly smiles again. He'd missed those eyebrows. "All sords of thigs. Budd all by samble jars are id by lab, and thad's..." he waves in the general direction of the stairs, "ub there."

Ugh. Stairs. Effort. Not today. Words and moving, also effort. Joly focuses on getting a couple of glasses of lemon-water and the right bottle of pills and sitting on the bed-- such a complicated maneuver, walking! People don't think about the muscles involved! There are so many and he is unpleasantly aware of that!--before trying to add talking back to the plan.

"I dod't dow how log id'll lasd. Id's subbosed to be lige a flu; a few days ad mosd?" He holds out one of the glasses.