[ log ] exploring mount rictor

To say that Rictor doesn't get drunk often would be a lie. A very large one, in fact. Admittedly, he's not the type to get completely wasted, but he's a man who likes his beer, and who considers the evening incomplete if boobs and other things of a dirtier nature are mentioned at least once (and preferably more than once). Of course, if things are shitty, the only real end to the evening is a plastered Rictor fumbling for this bed and dropping into it without so much as a second thought.

Which is precisely what's happened today.

He sleeps deeply, sprawled out on the bed on his stomach and his face half-buried in his pillow. His shoes, miraculously, are on the ground and not on his feet, but his socks haven't received any similar treatment.

The room is quiet, save for the gentle snores that make their way out of his half-open mouth, and unless something down the hall explodes, those snores will probably be continuing for the next several hours.