How could this be happening? Kieran? Hurt? His head throbs as his fingers start to sweat. He rolls over to the edge of his bed, stopping as his side balances dangerously on the smallest sliver of his mattress. The golden comforter wrapped around his feet keep him anchored. His hand sweeps from side to side until finally, a bubble glass edge smacks against his palm. Asco tightly grips the bottle's neck. He holds it up, hoping to wash away this instant in another sea of wine. Barely a drop hits his tongue. He uses a minor water spell to wash the inside of the bottle clean. The water fizzles away as the wine droplets land on his tongue.
Dagrún casually throws the bottle across the room. He smashes against the backside of his opening door. He hadn't even heard anyone knocking. Asco runs a hand through his hair. Futily he attempts to remember the names of the people who've shared his bed for the last few days. His mind aches. Only a few very blurry faces cross his mind. Someone with short black hair. It had been soft, like Kieran's. The others could have had any sort of hair color, or been of any species. He can't recall. "You can see yourself out. I'm just going to rest." He goes to wave the visitor away, but his hand simply falls down, smacking against the bed with the rest of him.