[Cain rises the next morning much like the dead. He drags himself up, noting how utterly foul his mouth tasted. He bumbled into the kitchen half asleep, noting he had no Delmetor and was in an entirely unfamiliar place. He pulls some juice from the fridge, drinking it from the carton to wash the taste out of his mouth. Excellent hygiene. He holds his head in his hands, waiting for the world to stop being so bright and goddamned awful.]