Asclepius/Pius stares openmouthed at me while he bandages a faun's leg. The faun in question looks a little worse off than just having a twisted ankle. He's got bruises on his face and upper arms. "What happened to you?"
"Never mind that," Pius blusters. "What you just asked me for ... do you realize what you're saying? What you're asking for?"
Translated: Am I nuts?
I'm only asking him for a drug to help me survive something I'm looking forward to with even less enthusiasm than I would a root canal.
The faun squints at me. "What are you two so hopped up about? Boss," he remembers to add out of respect.
"Nothing that concerns you," I say. "You should be more worried about whatever got you so bruised and banged up."
"Blame Thor," the faun says sullenly.
"Why? What did he do?"
Thor, beating up a member of the hotel staff? Impossible.
The faun huffs. "Didn't look where he was going. Stepped on me."
