Erik woke up to a throbbing in his head and the bittersweet taste of wine still on his breath, despite the buckets he'd filled last night whenever he'd had more than his fair share of the poison. "Round three." He muttered, as he set up and readied himself for the day -- the first two attempts this morning had barely resulted in him shifting his weight amongst the sheets, before a bout of nausea rushed over him. 

He was quick to dress, especially since he'd probably scared off the few servants assigned to him; dressing always seemed to be prolonged when someone was doing all the work for you. Upon finishing, he stopped before a mirror taking in his reflection with a tightening of his lips... there was no hiding his adventures from the night before as his face was flushed and his hair was in a disheveled mess; but, he counted his losses, pouring and finishing a glass of wine to bring peace to his unsettled stomach. It was a trick he'd discovered: when the drunkenness of the night before gave you grief in the morning, rather than fighting it, appease the beast with more booze.

He made his way down the steps to the kitchen snagging a loaf of bread to the sound of some nagging kitchen wench. He simply gave her a flick of his hand as a dismissal, as he made his way to the front of the castle for a breathe of fresh air. His bowels were already churning again from all the movement of the morning, so he stationed himself at a distance from the crowd gathered around a serf. 

He looked on, his mind in another place as he nibbled on his bread and focused the rest of his willpower on trying to keep the food down.