Athos had not intended to sleep here, but with the overwhelming amount of red wine in his system, he rather believes he had not been capable of choosing where he slept. So, instead of making his way back to his room, he had found himself a small corner with a firm mat to use as a pillow, thinking it would serve the same purpose as the one he had in Paris.

They were not much different.

Wearily, he rouses himself when he hears noise in the room, staggering to alertness as he often does -- clumsily and with great slowness. Cracking one eye open, he makes out the figure and gestures clumsily towards it. "If you use the force of your hips as you strike, it will be even more effective," he says, head pounding and oh, did he wish for ice for his head.