“Right,” says The Baron in encouragement, and he tries to get up – but maybe too quickly, as his brain slops against his skull and nearly falls out his ear, and with his legs tied together by his dropped trousers, he almost trips over. “Woooah,” he moans. “Go easy.” A minute to regain balance, then he bends down to pull his trousers and boxers up – but his mind somersaults forward, and he has to reach a hand out to the cold tile wall to steady himself. He waits, gets his breath back, then stumbles over to the sink, gripping its edge for support. He looks at himself in the mirror. Then his forehead lands hard and heavy against it.
“Yes,” The Baron groans. “Am in a bad way.”