"How's that for starters?"
Smith groaned as he sat up in the chair he'd curled up in, his back creaking in protest. He looked down at his watch, five hours, he could work with that. He slowly got out of the chair and worked some feeling other than pins and needles into his arms as he stumbled towards the kitchen, and water.
He made it to the sink before realizing that he didn't have a damn clue about where Atrianna kept her cups. Not wishing to spend valuable time searching for cups he simply turned on the tap and cupped his hands to hold the water. After splashing his face several times to wake himself up fully, he drank the last handful and shut off the tap. He dried his hands with a dishtowel and walked into the main entry way where he saw Vlad talking to a man he'd never met nor seen before and Shayla holding a twelve-gauge on Larson.
Smith raised his hand in greeting to Larson before making his way over to where Shayla and Larson were about ready to kill each other... or, at least, Shayla was.
"Larson," he said dryly. "I imagine that holstering the Deagle and the P-90 would go a long ways towards helping your relationship with Shayla here... walking into other people's homes without an invite is generally rude, doing it while armed is doubly so."
hit(&head, desk, HARD);