With a groan, Valetni rejoins the waking world. Immediately, the smell of stale vomit (easily distinguishable from the somewhat sweeter smell of fresh vomit) assaults his nostrils. Rolling over onto his hands and knees, he blearily opens his eyes, surveying the stained carpet. With a cry of disgust and despair, he fetches from his stained robe his To-Do list, and with trembling hand scrawls in to clean the carpets, no, to burn the carpets, and get new ones. The thought of laundry occurs to him, as he plucks at his sick stained habit. Always his least favorite task.<br/><br/>With a growl, Valetni comes to his feet, swaying slightly, and accompanied by a pounding headache, no doubt a lingering touch of the gas. "And who will have to clean that up...poor brother Valetni, that's who!" He vehemently says in a low tone. "Nobody around here appreciates anything I do, if it wasn't for me this place would be unfit for pigs within a week..." The realization that his precious cleaning supplies are no doubt contaminated is nearly enough to break his heart, but he soldiers on as he strides out the front hall and towards the grounds, his ultimate destination his little shack.