[Center][H1][B]ANDREW[/b][/H1][/Center][hr]
[hr]
[INDENT]Nice car, friendly enough face in the driver’s seat and damn, was that champagne? Someone was splurging, and he hoped this wasn’t coming out of his wallet. Or Dr. Maddison’s. Still, as he settled into his seat, Andrew took advantage of an opportunity he hadn’t expected, shoulders slumping, back loose, feet stretched out because why not use all that leg room. But the best bit, the most excellent surprise, was the ice bucket. Who knew coincidence could be such a lovely thing? 

Andrew pulled out the handkerchief he’d stuffed in his pocket out of habit more than necessity, since he tended to use them at work to clean his hands and they weren’t exactly white anymore. He then took some of that ice, grinning at the tightness of the chill against his fingers, wrapped it up in the linen square and leaned back with it pressed against his cheek. It was too late to do much good, but better late than never, and it felt like bliss anyway. It could chase away the impending headache, at the very least, he hoped.

He relaxed with his head back, trusting, perhaps more than he should have, that the driver knew where he was supposed to go, and took a deep breath of satisfaction. Maybe this thing wasn’t going to be so bad, after all. 

[center]****[/center]

He was so, so very wrong. And confused.

But mostly wrong. Extremely confused.

He didn’t land gently. He’d never been light on his feet. But when the handcuffs let him go, he was still dozing just enough that he didn’t need to tell his knees to bend. They weren’t about to hold him up anyway, and down he went. 

[i]Hello again, floor.[/i]

This felt awfully familiar. Except this floor needed a lot more than a simple vacuum. It could do with a leaf blower and a scrubbing. Maybe some bleach. 

It probably wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t [i]his[/i] floor, and that meant he wanted to get his face off of it as quickly as possible. Thankfully, he didn’t see any feet about, so he hadn’t managed to thoroughly embarrass himself with the fainting, though that it had happened twice in one day, and he couldn’t remember getting out… of… the- Yeah, okay, no, off the floor, now! Disoriented or not. Throbbing skull or not (well, he needed the skull, but he could do without the throbbing). 

He shoved himself onto his knees with a groan, motivated more by the chance to get a hand to his face and make sure it was still generally face shaped, the way it was complaining about the jostling, than by the whole, getting up off the floor thing. But he stared about him with growing concern, and took far less time to get his feet under his body and force himself upright than his head would have liked. The wall helped, the more restrictive material he was wearing did not. [b]“Th’ hell isis?”[/b] His words slurred together in some small panic and bleary not wanting to understand as he plucked at the jacket he didn’t recognize.

[b]“There a dress code I missed?”[/b] Joking at empty walls didn’t work as well as one might like, when one was forced to try it out for themselves. No one laughed. Not even a forced chuckle to break the ice creeping up his spine. Something was very, very wrong. But why was he wearing… Whatever the hell he was wearing? Where were his pants? His shirt? His phone?

Where was he?!

Looking around, one hand still on the wall, the other trying to hold his head together, Andrew finally saw the table. Adrenaline helped him take the first step and then he was almost racing for it, hopeful that there’d be some hint as to what was going on. Please let it be a really fucked up prank. 

He didn’t make it to the table though. Halfway there and his footsteps started to echo. He turned to make sure he was still alone, because it seemed worse to go through this with someone watching, and didn’t even have the chance to register more than kid-shape before he decided, without actually thinking about it, that this was going to hurt. 

[b]“Oof!”[/b] Was now a statement of protest, pain, breathlessness, and swears. The body slammed into him. But before they could both hit the floor, their momentum pushed a suddenly lighter Andrew just that little bit farther, slipping out of the kid’s reach even as he skidded through the floor and finally fetched up on the other side of the table. 

Down again, and halfway vanished into the ground, the young man glared at the ceiling as hard as his now splitting headache would allow, and slowly pushed himself back onto solid ground and sitting up, leaning on his arms and making sure he wasn’t about to get attacked again before he raised his density. But since fate seemed to be conspiring against him, or it was some kind of sign, he decided not to risk standing again. Floors were safer. You couldn’t fall if you never got up. He tended to keep that saying for the literal moments, since it was depressing as all get out, but just now, it seemed highly appropriate. 

So, from his seated position, heart hammering, head trying to break open, bruised, confused but glaring, Andrew eyed this gung-ho stranger with all the suspicion he could muster. [b]“What the hell was that for?”[/b][/indent]