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Bond might have a liver well used to dealing with copious amounts of alcohol, however James had not. Nor had he any kind of pre-sleep sobering strategies. Which mean that when James turned back into Bond early Monday morning, Bond was the one who got to deal with the raging hangover. Since it had been quite a long time since the last time he'd had one of those it took a substantial amount of time for anything other than a blinding headache to penetrate.
Little things. Like the presence of a warm body in the bed with him. Frowning, because he couldn't for the life of him remember bringing anyone hover, let alone who, he looked over to try and figure out the identity of of his companion.
You wouldn't think leaping clear halfway across the room with a strangled yelp, whilst deeply hungover, could be done with anything resembling coolness, calmness, style or grace...and you'd be right. Which is how Bond ended up on the floor.
Ow.
[For one. And so very, very NFB.]
Little things. Like the presence of a warm body in the bed with him. Frowning, because he couldn't for the life of him remember bringing anyone hover, let alone who, he looked over to try and figure out the identity of of his companion.
You wouldn't think leaping clear halfway across the room with a strangled yelp, whilst deeply hungover, could be done with anything resembling coolness, calmness, style or grace...and you'd be right. Which is how Bond ended up on the floor.
Ow.
[For one. And so very, very NFB.]
