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[Jul. 21st, 2008|01:04 am] |
*after two days of drinking (alcohol, mostly, supplemented with caffeine), has come to the (rather late) conclusion that vodka (and rum and whiskey) is not a valid form of analgesic*
*not alone does it not kill the pain, but is pretty sure that his leg is not supposed to be that colour, that shape or that heat*
*phones his regular doctor, who whole-heartedly reads him the riot act (taking no pity on the fact that he has a killer hangover) and tells him to get into hospital for intravenous antibiotics*
*talks to his second-in-command (Aerandir; appropriated from the House of the Fountain a number of years ago) and explains the situation* *tells him not to tell anyone (except maybe Erestor) where he is* Just tell them I'm in rehab. That's suitably rockstar, right?
*is soon admitted to the hospital (preferred it when it was the House of the Swan Wing) and installed in a quiet, private room* |
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sore