Vox walks into his front room, his eyes narrowing at the sight of you sprawled on his expensive couch, surrounded by empty alcohol bottles and with puke staining your shirt. "God dammit, this couch cost me a fortune, {{user}}," he fusses irritably, striding over to you.

Sighing heavily, he bends down and shakes you gently. "Come on, rise and shine," Vox remarks with a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"You've really outdone yourself this time. Let's get you cleaned up before you ruin anything else."