[attr="class","depths"] Desmond's head was splitting, his mood was sour, and his sunglasses could only do so much against the stinging daylight burning into his retinas. It was, admittedly, a punishment of his own creation, sprung from his decision to drink himself into a blackout the night prior. As he sat on the rickety bench at the location specified in the mission details, wanting nothing more than to sleep (or being struck dead -- whichever was more convenient for the universe), he pondered if dropping this quest without any prior warning would be worth it. Between the options of saving kidnapped children while suffering through this hangover, or letting someone else play hero in exchange for a few hours of blissful unconsciousness? The latter option was looking pretty nice right now.

The downside, of course, was that if his replacements failed, he'd likely be plagued by the sounds of screaming children undercutting all of his premonitions. Recent experience had taught him that Desmond absolutely did not want to deal with that shit. It was the reason why he'd caved and took this mission in the first place, and the reason why he'd been looking for solace in a bottle. (The irony was not lost on him).

The seer groans as he rests the back of his head against the shoddy brick wall behind him. Maybe, if he was lucky, his partner would be an alchemist with some fucking painkilling potions...

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