[ The plop of pills into his hand does, at least, earn a muffled grumble that might have been a 'thanks' before Fuuta raises his head from the bedsheets. Squints at the pills -- six, way too many, what the hell, he'll take three -- and pops them in his mouth, planning on swallowing them dry --

then promptly does a spit-take upon that innocuous question, launching them off to be lost somewhere amidst the plush carpeting. So it's a good thing Beowulf gave him too many to start with, actually! ]

Wh -- the hell kind of stupid question is that?! [ Well, that sure woke him up and got his ass moving. Sheer embarrassment has Fuuta scrambling to sit up; even with the hungover pallor to his face, his cheeks are flushed hot as he shoots the other a dirty look. ] What do you mean, 'did we' -- of course we -- ...

[ ... actually, he has no idea how to answer that question! Because I think it'd be funniest if they don't remember anything, and now have to deal with Schrodinger's smash. Fuuta's jaw drops as he slowly realizes the last few hours of his memories from last night are a blank slate, and he groans (again) as he slowly buries his face in his hand. ]

... do you think we ... did it?