The next morning, Trixie woke with eyes sore and slightly swollen along with a mouth raw and dry as low grade sand paper. She was also half under Emerick and slightly squished as a result. For a few minutes, she tried to fall back asleep, but when that failed she gently nudged Emerick in an effort to get him to move. He didn't budge. In fact, he didn't even stirr.
"Emerick," She called softly. She shook him a little rougher, but was met with much the same results. "Are you dead?!"
Without waiting to hear a response, and not really expecting one anyway, Trixie forcefully rolled him off of her. Unfortunately, she used a little more force than necessary and wound up completely dumping him on the floor. Groaning, he sat up and looked around blearily.
"What time is it?" He questioned through a yawn.
"Does it matter?" Trixie replied, sliding off the bed.
