A pathetic Two Time was a sick Two Time. And a sick Two Time was a little Two Time.

They were curled up on the couch, bundled in so many blankets they looked like a little fluffy chicken nugget, whimpering softly as a straw inserted into a can of ginger ale was gently pushed between their lips, with the surprisingly soft voice of Chance telling them to sip as a cool washcloth was pressed against their forehead by a concerned Noob.

“Chance, move the stra-“ Then they puked, Guest 1773 moving the extra blankets out of the way as they emptied the contents of their stomach into a trash can.