Bob wanders from room to room, obviously looking for something.

"Now what?" I'm working on a messy plot outline and I don't need another distraction. At least he finally put clothes on.

"Can't you hear that?"

"Normal human hearing here, creature of the night. What?"

"Lots of people. Arguing with each other."

"Nope, sorry. Somebody's TV is probably up loud. You know, the city's quiet again, Aeshma's gone. Why don't you hit the tunnels, go find some trouble to get in?"

He gives me a distracted pout. "Are you throwing me out?"

"No, just pointing out that you haven't been anywhere except with me for days now."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

I honestly don't know why I'm saying this, in the face of that grin. "I'm saying it because my poor human joints and muscles need a break. Sure, I'm willing to die with a smile on my face, but can't we put that off till next week or something? I've got a deadline."

"Fine," he sniffs. "I can tell when I'm not loved."

He huffed out, as if I couldn't see the grin on his face. Sheesh.

"Ooh, chicken. Thanks you so much, Susan," I say as I accept the offered chicken breast. Cold chicken and beer really hit the spot. Of course, beer is always good. Well, except for that yogi beer the orcs like, because it's tarter than the average beer.

Someone has their boombox going.

What's so funny 'bout peace, love, and understanding...

"Got any peace, love and harmony in there?"

"I've got some peace sign buttons," I reply. "And I was reading about a mellowing spell, but I'm not sure it's magical magic, you know? Something about lying flat on one's back, watching the clouds go by and slowly chanting 'I must chill'."

I eye the beer caddy. "Don't suppose you have anything in the way of hard cider in there?"

I hand Susan a bottle of Woodchuck Cider and lay down among the dandelions.

Someone's playing Elvis Costello nearby. I can feel my blood pressure dropping already.

I don't think I drank all that much, really. Maybe I have a cold coming on. Maybe a storm is coming. That can cause a headache, can't it?

My house is a shambles. One I leave to the Instagolem. I can't seem to deal with compound sentences. Or is it complex? I don't care.

I wander outside until I hit a park. Dandelions? In March? Whatever. I flop on the grass.

I stumble into the dandelion patch, belated but elated to find my kindred.

I flop down next to Penny and start rubbing her feet and ankles. "Good party," I murmur.

DXM hands me a beer. Knuts hands me a plate of potato salad. I nod at Susan. Beer good. Brain hurt.

Dandelions. It would be dandier if I could find Edward. I don't know what I drank last night-- or even if it was something one doesn't drink, as such-- but I seem to have lost Edward. And Jilli. And Clovis. And I've no idea where Dagfari is, either.

I flop down on the grass at the edge of the group, and start digging in pockets for painkillers.

Witches' hat... napkin... fangs... stake... paper aeroplane... red nose... chocolate. That'll do.

"Anyone else for a chunk of Fagin's Extra Dark?"

David's masterful foot rub has put me into a state of near coma. I may have an out-of-body experience any moment. Above my head, I'm vaguely aware of people passing bottles and other items to each other. There's a gentle breeze, the sound of distant water. I feel myself letting go.

I'm not sure if hours, days or weeks have passed before I shake myself aware and begin heading home. Unfortunately, before I get there I overhear the latest news on the radio.

I feel as if a weight is pressing on my back. My steps slow as I reach my street. My front yard is covered with dandelions. Good.

It's Saint Patrick's Day, so the music and beer are flowing freely at The Client & Server. The crowd seems on edge tonight, so I murmur to the husband to pour up a round of Guinness on the house, and suggest that the musicians pick up the tempo a little.

Dancing will make it all better.