Faelan's sleep seemed peaceful enough. The soft plain comfort of his bed was something he had missed, the bed in the foundation's cell barely even seeming like a bed in comparison. Trying not to listen, he could hear the dragon in the living room, watching the TV. He had felt himself drift asleep, and he woke up, feeling better than he had in ages. The bottle of whiskey was still uncapped, and sitting on his desk. Walking over, he grabbed it, downing a good swig of the fluid, feeling the burn run comfortably down.<br/><br/>"Not a bad way to start a morning huh?" he muttered to himself.<br/><br/>He walked out into the kitchen, putting the bottle back where he got it before he remembered the dragon was there. Turning, he looked to the couch, and was already disappointed.<br/><br/>"Shula, what the fuck!" he shouted, looking at the remnants of his couch splayed across the floor, with her right in the middle of the mess. Even he would admit he wouldn't want to sleep on the couch, but the tattered corpse of his couch, springs sticking out, stung to look at.