And so that's how the night concludes for all three of them, two magicians and a witcher drunkenly passed out on a couch. At some point closer to the morning, Lambert wakes to answer the somewhat pressing demands of his bladder, only to laugh when he realizes what's happened, Strange and Childermass hardly the picture of dignity in their respective positions. It's a funny enough sight that he wants to preserve it, so he extricates himself from the pileup, he rummages for one of the few things he's purchased for himself at the Caravan.

Thus, the magicians will find themselve rudely awakened by a bellowed and all-too-cheerful "Good morning, sleepyheads!" and a camera flash going off in their faces the moment they startle into wakefulness. The witcher snatches the photographs and tucks them away before either can make a grab for it -- though with the hangovers they've got to be nursing, it'll be amazing if they manage to move without puking, though he may not be able to avoid any attempt to grab the camera out of his hands.

At the very least, they won't suffer the indignity without any sort of recompense. Once Lambert's done laughing at them (not for long, because faerie ale leaves an odd fuzziness even for him) he'll set about making them both coffee to stave off the worst of it, spiked with a small amount of phoenix fruit juice just to wake them up.

Someday in the future, long after he's left the Carnival, Lambert will always remember this as one of his fondest memories: three friends at a breakfast counter, disheveled and unkempt, giving each other shit on an early winter morning.