[Varker has had the misfortune of having Qetzi on his room filter, the wet ooze of filth seeping under the door and the longer he stares at it the more he feels like a rat in a cage.

He thinks he can see faces in it, much like what he'd seen in Trevanue's hair, hears sounds and words that he knows can't be real. Whether its the fucking gross tar on the floor or he's hallucinating or both, he has Lullabee in one hand, and his comm in the other as he slowly backs up to the back of the room and his desk.

If he sounds out of breath its because he might be hyperventilating.]

F-Folgate? I need to leave. Immediately.

I don't give a fuck what you're doing, fix it.

Now.

He had stayed up rather late, more so than usual, but part of it had been from being unable to move. Steward had stayed until the stroke of midnight, and even if the dream had never turned into a nightmare, it was just Steward as he tried to remember him? Coming down from those last few hours alone with the candle still burning had taken it's toll.

He'd brought Lullabee back with him to Folgates, quietly opening the door, setting the cat down, and flopped into the large bed face first, exhausted. It was early, he is far to sober for this, practically four in the morning, and he feels like a over stretched rubber band.

Whether Norton wakes up or finds him still dressed and half laid on the bed in the morning, he looks a mess.

Varker has managed to regain some of himself back following that god awful flood. He's managed his apology tour well, and isn't hitting the bottle quite so hard as he'd been during his shake up with Oscar.

He still is drinking of course, opening a bottle of wine and pouring himself a glass. Glancing Norton's way, settling down for his evening reading, he asks, "care for a glass?"

Nothing suspicious here, just trying to be courteous.

Varker comes back to the cabin looking like he'd just worked a double, his face is a mess, hints of dried blood that were missed, tear stains, still wearing his swim jammers minus his shoes and the usual robe he wore up to the pool.

He takes off Norton's watch, walks up to him and offers it to him, the first time he'd ever been late with it, really though he thinks perhaps in the hour or two he'd been sleeping perhaps Oscar might have chatted with him and explained where he was, and why.

He hopes it wasn't in too much detail, "I won't be late with it tomorrow, Folgate. Sorry."