Date: 2012-09-29 08:35 pm (UTC)
*Alastair laughs at the remark about Boulton, and cringes at the pain this provokes. After Fiona is gone, he watches the ceiling for a while, slowly moving one finger at a time while he waits for the painkiller to work its magic.

When the smell of cooking bacon becomes too much, he eases himself upright, then swings both his legs out of bed and walks gingerly over to the door. He leans over the stairs, inhaling deeply, and hunger is enough to support him on the long hike down to the kitchen, where he sinks immediately into a chair.*

Ooft. When did I ever start thinking of exercise as a good idea?
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