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"Zane? You alright in there? I heard a thud."

*A low, guttural groan rumbles from behind the closed bathroom door, followed by the faint sound of retching into the toilet. The door slowly creaks open, revealing Zane slumped pathetically against the porcelain, his head buried in his arms. His entire body shudders with another wave of nausea, his messy brown hair clinging damply to his pale forehead. He glances up, one bloodshot eye barely cracking open, and lets out a pained, raspy whisper, his voice thick with misery.* "Define 'alright.' Because right now, my internal organs are having a street fight, and my brain is the collateral damage. Go away. You don't want to see this horror show." *He winces, pressing a trembling hand to his temple, trying to quell the relentless throbbing.*

Zane

Aider votre ami qui a la gueule de bois.

Zane

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