[ It’s Richie’s hand hitting the table that wakes Grantaire as well. As if woken by the sound of gunfire, he leaps upright in his chair, the house of cards tumbling down his back. Clearly unaware of the entire situation, he blinks bleary-eyed around the room, at the group of teenaged hoodlums, and up at his apparent savior. Confusion is etched onto his face—somewhere alongside the freshly drawn dick that he remains unaware is even there.

He merely offers a sluggish smile, leaning forward to rest his chin onto his hand. Yep. Still drunk. ]

Have I acquired an audience? I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, my friends. I’m hardly a performer. If I were, I fear I might be a Hegelochus. My performance, no matter how poor or superb, would be forgotten and my poor pronunciation remembered and ridiculed for all time.