Grog awoke in a puddle of drool, his face pressed against the kitchen floor. Awaking in a state of relative panic, he clumsily turned over to his back, and then slumped against the sink's counter, and once again covered his mouth with his mask. Frantically turning his head to examine every corner of the room, before inspecting his own glove-covered hands, he attempted to make some lick of sense of the situation. Before he could even begin to process the events, the alcohol equivalent of a sledgehammer struck his brain. Not only was he drunk, he was smashed beyond mortal (or otherwise) comprehension. A soft "[i]What the fuck?[/i]" escaped his lips, right before the green demon-lady entered the room. Grog almost heard her address him, and he replied with a distracted "Yeah, yeah, take it, whatever.", as he was busy staring at his own hands.

 Wait, what did she just say? Grog shook his head to regain some semblance of clarity. By the looks of it, she had already left the room, but what the hell, she did ask nicely. Before he could process anything else, however, another wave of inebriation struck him, and he was once more blasted into oblivion. Barrel-rolling across the kitchen and into the main hall with frightening speed, all while knocking down everything in his immediate vicinity, he yelled with a mix of enthusiasm and utter confusion.

 [b]"Guys. I think I just tripped balls through time."[/b]