Room 515, Wednesday Morning

Some would no doubt blame the tequila Leda had consumed last night. But she knew her body, and her poison of choice better than that. Her stomach and nerves had been fooled by the liquor for a while, but had just punished her severely for tricking them.

It had basically felt like an invisible giant had seized her by the stomach, and the brain, and squeezed. She'd barely made it to the bath room where she had to fight to keep from passing out, just so she could be sick.

Now she staggered to her nightstand, keeping upright through sheer willpower. She'd fought the Peca. And the Peca won.

[Establishy. Though open for the roomie I suppose.]