Drabble: Drills
DRILLS
Bertha woke up with a pounding headache and looked around her. She was in an unfamiliar corridor wearing a guard’s uniform. Vaizey lay next to her wearing a guard’s helmet - and nothing else.
She nudged her equally hung over companion who promptly farted and moaned.
“What happened?” she murmured to no one.
The last thing she remembered was going down to the cellars. She knew that if her lover were to ever become sheriff, he needed to refine his palate and learn to appreciate fine wine.
Apparently, in addition to a lack of taste, Vaizey also lacked tolerance.
Bertha sighed.