Usually when he woke up and came downstairs, after washing, shaving and dressing in his room, the smell of breakfast greeted him and the fire in the dining room was lit. Not today. Tristan felt fine, but he had no doubt Pippa would not, given the state she had been in last night. Indeed, when he entered the drawing room, she was still sleeping. He walked over to the windows and opened the curtain, bright morning sunlight hitting the young woman's face. That should wake her up, but to make sure, Tristan broke the silence with a "Good morning."

Oh, he was cruel. The wretched doctor not only yelled at her, or so it sounded like when he said, "Good morning," he had made the sunlight flood into the room, turning the insides of her eyelids a violent shade of red! She opened her eyes and then winced, bringing up a hand as she squinted against the harsh rays. "Uuhhhhgh," she moaned and then lurched to her feet, took off at a dash, and... well... was sick in the nearest chamberpot because she couldn't make it any further than that.

That would be either in Tristan's room or in the guest room, and boy, how he hoped it was the latter. He looked up surprised when she got off the sofa and ran away, and he followed her. Oops. He had not realized she would be so sick. He stopped in the doorway. "Are you alright?" he asked when he saw her bent over a chamberpot. He didn't like the smell, but it also did not upset him as much as it might upset other people. He had been confronted with a lot of grossness in the asylum.

"Uhhh," she moaned, "I'm fine... really I a- HUAH!" came the dry heave. It would take her a few minutes of hovering over the chamberpot and not getting sick anymore for her to sit back on her heels. It took her even longer to realize she was, indeed, in his bed-chamber. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she thought. "I am so... sorry..." she said with a shudder and weakly moved to grab the offending pot, "I'll take care of it."

If her being in his bedroom was supposed to be sexy, that effect, if it had any, would be entirely undone by the sickening smell of puke. Tristan entered the room, passed behind her and opened the window, trying not to pull a face. While she heaved over the chamber pot, he went downstairs, and returned a minute later with a cup of water. "You better stay down for now." He could already picture her fainting while carrying the chamber pot down. That thought was enough to make his own stomach churn. "Here..." he handed her the glass. "I apologise. I didn't think you'd be this hungover."

She put the pot down slowly and took the water gratefully. "It's my own fault... I could have said 'no' to the wine." She rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. It was clammy. She rinsed her mouth with a little bit of the water, then drank some of it slowly, gingerly.

"You better take it slow today." Tristan said. "I'll make myself some breakfast. You may take that pot down once your strength has returned."

Because he wasn't taking it down.

"It is nothing," she said with a slight shudder. "I'll be fine." Because she wasn't about to let a hangover stop her from her day. She wasn't going to drink wine again for a long time, maybe never again would she touch it. Maybe.

Tristan nodded and went downstairs. But instead of going to the kitchen, he first went to his office to look for something that would help Pippa with the hangover. He felt bad. He had not realized last night how the wine was affecting her until it was too late.

"Huah!" came the dry heave from upstairs. Good lord, was there no end to the belly issues that came with over-imbibing? She wrinkled her nose at the smell she had caused and she left the pot where it was at for now to go into her room and lie on the bed. She would take the pots downstairs when her head wasn't pounding so viciously.