That gets laughter again from some, though there's a brittle quality to it this time. Until now, the escalation has met relatively little resistance, but being brought down to earth seems to stymy them for a moment even while Lambert takes a slow sip of his drink, looking around. Before the next player can say anything, though, the one who's been most ribald of all -- and periodically popping something pink and crystalline into her mouth all night --suddenly shudders, her bright yellow skin taking on a greyish tinge.

Lambert's reflexes, drunk or not, are swift enough to move him out of the way and onto his feet as she vomits noisily onto the seat he just vacated, sliding onto the floor twitching and glassy-eyed while foam bubbles at the corner of her lips. Immediately, a handful of servants materializes out of seemingly thin air, though they were really hovering close at hand the whole time. One whisks away the stained furniture, while another busies itself cleaning the mess off the floor. When Lambert looks up, the sprite is already gone, another of the servants having taken her away while his attention was elsewhere.

"Well," Lambert interjects into the silence, after a moment. "I've never had that happen to me." Heavily-lashed eyes snap to him with a focus that seems more uncanny now rather than flattering, accompanied by a gale of sweet laughter and cups lifted in unison.

Oh, that happens here all the time, one says. Another chimes in with I've lost count of mine like it's a point of pride, and Lambert feels the nape of his neck prickle as the medallion on his chest grows warm again, and the voice he's been ignoring in all the days since they've gotten here finally manages to pierce the fog of revelry: something isn't right here.