She poses for a moment, trying for tragic (Ignat would manage it better, she's sure, but one sort of expects that from an incubus), before sauntering over to hand over the bottle. Of course, now that she's up, the draw of a shower is becoming equal to the draw of the bed.

Hmph. Such are the 'rewards' of industry. She goes to fetch the teacup (which is now serving its second life as an ashtray of sorts).