[ Ben usually doesn't make it to his designated room after camping out in the drawing room where the good liquor and the Cuban cigars are. Still, he's never been so stoned or drunk that he didn't know where the fuck he was or who he spent the night with when he came to.

At least, not without Novichok, not until now.

It only takes the tell-tale sound of blow being done to rouse him, and the familiar scent of Butcher's and cologne, or hair gel, or whatever the fuck it was invades his nostrils instead of the cocaine and fight or flight settles in his shoulders and he shifts up, groggy, but self-aware enough to know who the voice belonged to. ]

I knew you were a cuck, but I didn't take you for a dumbass.

[ Ben grabs the tray of cocaine though, old habits die hard, and he cleans up what's left of it to keep himself level. ]

What the fuck are you doing here? I would remember if we played hide the sausage and we didn't, but when I went to sleep last night, I was alone.

So, either you missed me, or you pissed off the help.