[She's used to boys that go away or stalk and avoid for weeks at a time. The look she gives him when she pulls away is disapproving.] Next time your sick I'll knock you on the head, shackle you in the basement and feed you chicken and stars instead of alcohol.

[And disapproval is replaced with a smile.] Tired. Lots of really rather not close my eyes. I don't think slayer me is convinced the statues are gone. Or the blink muscles in my eyes are a trophy from not blinking the last twenty four hours.