[b][i]Stuart Pot was vaguely aware that he was lying on the ground, and that it was cold.[/i][/b] Certainly, it wasn't any stretch of the imagination that he'd blacked out and ended up sleeping on the floor--he'd done it before, plenty of times. He'd probably drank a little too much last night, took one too many Advil's to curb the edge of pain behind his eyebrows that he [i]certainly[/i] felt now. But why was it so cold?

He opened his black eyes lazily, and blinked a few times likewise. Was he in the woods? After a pause, he stood unsteadily, leaning onto a nearby tree trunk for support, before rubbing a hand over his face, and dismissively wondering where he was--and [i]why[/i] he was there.

Then he staggered forward and called out, [b]"For Christ's sake, what's goin' on? Hel-lo-oo? Anybody there?"[/b]