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"Ugh," Zell groaned as he awoke under the table.  "What a night."

The table and nearby chairs scraped the floor as Zell moved furniture aside with his feet and hands, then stood up groggily.  The taproom was pretty quiet, only the sizzling sound of cooking coming from the backroom.  The accompanying smell of food was quite appealing.  He looked around and noticed MacKensie.  "Mornin Mac," he greeted with a sleepy face and a raised hand.  Then he gingerly took steps toward the stairs to go up to the washroom.

"You've got showers!?" Zell echoed the maid incredulously.

"Of course," she answered.  "What kind of no-good cheap'n'dirty establishment do you take us for?"

"Sorry, I just... I dunno... the medieval look of everything, ye know."

"Medi-what?" the maid asked, confused.

"Never mind.  Yeah, I'll take a shower.  Don't mind about washing the clothes today, I'll get another day out of em.  Get back to you on that one, tomorrow, yeah?"

With that, he grabbed some towels and got himself cleaned up.  Coming back downstairs, he saw MacKensie getting her breakfast served and quickly asked Frederick to fix him him up the same thing.  Plopping himself on a chair, he stretched his neck to one side and ran a hand through his hair, then let out a breath.  What a night indeed.  He was still tired, but fortunately not hungover.

"Sleep alright?" he asked the Frenchwoman.