Enoch took one step and discovered, to his chagrin, that at some point he had developed the grace of a decapod with a penchant for Tennessee Whiskey. Perhaps he ought to have been more cautious about his lunch? Rather than allowing Macnair to talk him into decimating a bottle of brandy between them…

Lords above, he was becoming dizzy and though the injury to his face had subsided to a mere ache the aftereffects to his cranium were such that it felt as though a stone were rattling around in a tin can. It would likely take more than a few hours of sleep to see off this particular headache - Merlin, he hadn’t been in this state since...well, a week or so really. He had, after all, spent much of the last decade getting into precisely this sort of state and was something of an expert on it by now.

Which meant that he was able to walk in a more or less straight line, though his feet were positioned at a variety of decangles at any given moment and were it not for the young lady pulling him towards the door he would likely not be managing quite so well. Which was a rare thing in ladies still in their decarian years! Yes, despite the fact that she had clocked him in the face there were altogether worse prospects to have stumbled across.

Even if she was treating him as a venomous tentacula she was desperate to get rid of!

“Oh you young ladies, you do have to worry about every little thing do you not?”

He did at least have the good sense to keep his voice low, and he lowered it a decimal point or so more as they travelled down the empty corridor.

“Which way next?”

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