Hey Floor. Thanks for catching me. Although next time, bring cushions. And can you tell Room to stop spinning? Unless we’re in flight. Better attempt to sit up.
So the headaches continues. A thousand iced needles serving a hangover and now my perception has to deal with seeing a time anomaly piloting a time machine. Farewell Psychics, we had fun. And we found a scarf, apparently. Yeah, this definitely isn’t mine.
Womble’s looking a tad concerned. “Whazzamassur…” Right. A lot of mead sloshing around in here. If ever there were a need for an elocution lesson and free mints combo.
Okay, not to be an antisocial deserter, but I need to lie down on something that doesn’t serve as a floor. What are you doing, Womble? What’ve you typed in? Viking.
He gives a “you-should-know” shrug. Oh the joys of the morning after. Some explanations later, maybe. Then I’ll deal with manic, beard-loving warriors; once my stomach’s ceased attempts at the macarena. Please god don’t let them give me more mead.
“Give me a shout if it gets too explodey in here. And should there be more free scarfs, or anything, feel free to claim them.” I just managed to get the scarf onto the hatstand in one shot: not bad. All know my fashion sense is already done.
Sorry Womble, if you need me, I’ll be somewhere in this maze. Somewhere comfortable. We both know ‘The Hungover’ are not the best people to hang with. Usual Homeless Helper antics will resume after this nap…