Fournier has a wild face on him and he knocks chunks out of the room on his way through the door. That and the blood on his lip suggest he mightn’t be in the optimal mental state. Never mind that some of us have paid good money to get there, the bowsie just waltzes in as usual.
The feller and the missus aren’t too keen on us leaving and there’s a bit of windmilling going on before himself lands on his back and I get a sashay on. Fournier’s up the hall accosting another guest, some kind of burbling noise coming out of him and he pinning the poor man to the floor, for what reasons escape me. The chap seems overwhelmed and lets himself be dragged into the room next door while myself is down the hallway sharpish… Fournier-less, and after a corner or two it occurs to me that said room might be our berth and not just a scene of whatever crime he’s cooking. About face.
Around half of Fournier is on the bed, arms flung up around his face. As I make my entrance the bathroom door opens and his new friend creeps out, dribbling on the carpet and looking something like a molested rabbit… I retire the shark in his direction and give him the door, an opportunity he does not squander.
The window’s open and the cold air helps… picks me up far enough that I’m willing to see what liquids Fournier has brought with him. The man himself opens his eyes long enough to glance at me, makes a noise like a turkey doing a cryptic crossword, and firmly shuts them again.
I crawl around a bit but I can’t find what he’s done with his suitcase… which strikes me as very rude of him, but those are the shakes, those and the ones looming somewhat and making me think maybe he has the right idea, so I shut things down a bit and stretch myself out. Tomorrow is another day.
Admittedly turkeys aren’t among the wordiest of creatures, as they cannot hold a pen. Though I find it important to note that they are quite apt when it comes to verbage or possible verbiage.
Possibly*