Lita groans pitifully from underneath the covers. Even though she had basically been professional party-goer back in her younger years, she was more than a little out of practice nowadays and was certainly paying for it this morning. She was just as sad and heartbroken as she was the night before and had a splitting headache and roiling belly on top of it.
"Still prettier than you," Lita grumbles, sticking a leg out of the covers to bump into Mort as a sort of greeting. "Wasn't a bad idea. Was a good idea at the time."
That was an outright lie but Mort knew that already. He doubted he would hold it against her too much, not when she was obviously going through some shit. She actually kind of can't believe he even came to see her in the first place. On second thought, when Lita considers it, she can. After she'd pushed Mort away and told him she wasn't going back to the LBJ anymore, he had balked at first but only at first. When she had explained her reasoning, he'd backed her up, supported her decision and stood by her and Lita wouldn't forget it. She knew she had a true ally and friend in Mort, even when she wasn't at her best.
"Microwave in the kitchen," Lita mumbles, pointing with her foot in the general direction of the device. She's secretly grateful she was being taken care of on the shittiest morning she can remember in recent years but that doesn't mean she's equipped to express it. She does peek her head out from under the covers though. It's small but it's a start.
"No cows," she confirms, her voice husky from drink. "But the thought of drinking anything with milk in it right now makes me want to hurl."
Just thinking about it, Lita swallows hard, stifling her nausea. After a few shaky moments, she feels confident to open her mouth again.