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Mental Processes

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Wake up.

Blink. Groan. Ow. That seems to cover it, really.

“Should my brain hurt this much?”

Yes, yes it should. It's all your fault, really.

Someone snickers nearby.

“I thought you couldn't get drunk, Rodney.”

Frown. What?

Don't look at me. I'm not the one who drank all that wine last night.

“I usually don't, but apparently Syresh thinks that I need to learn a lesson today. Oh, God, can someone please turn down the sun?”

Unfortunately, that option is unavailable. Sor-ry.

Goddamn chirpy, sing-song Tok'ra. Another snigger. Damn, what the hell did he drink last night? And how much of it?

“I did not think that the wine the Rianashi gave us was that strong.”

Logic. Something he usually associates with himself. Somehow, though, logic has been overruled during the last twelve hours. To excess, it seemed. Damn.

“Yeah, but Mister 'I-can-drink-more-than-you-can-and-not-get-sick' over here managed to get into a drinking contest with Welan. You know, that big, beefy guy who looks like he could probably drink Ronon under the table?”

A memory swims up, prodded along by the waves of smugness Syresh is giving off. It shouldn't be possible for a faceless being to smirk, logically, but seeing as how logic was off on holiday, she does so, and with great satisfaction. The image of a hulking man downing a giant mug of mulled wine focuses itself at the forefront of his brain. Oh, hell.

“Didn't expect you could last that long, McKay.”

Yet another snigger from Syresh, making him toss an annoyed mental scowl at her. She replies with the mental equivalent of a raspberry and smirks again.

“Oh, thank you very much, Conan. How long do we have to stay here for?”

“The mayor said we are welcome to leave at any time. He also said that should you like to return, we have to send ahead with a note. Three weeks in advance.”

“Oh, God.”

Pause.

Well, that has to be –

“Shut up.”

“What?”

I'm just saying…

“Not you. Syresh. She's laughing at me.”

“Serves you right.”

Sigh.

“Let's just go home.”

Pause again while something that has been bothering his subconscious starts banging on the door of his conscious mind.

“Where the hell are my pants?”