Office Hours, Sunday

[whatever_sucks]

Squall was at his desk, more or less. He had to be around for the parents, didn't he? His forehead rested on the smooth, cold wood, and he very stoically didn't moan. In front of him was a glass of the foul mixture of Antidote, raw egg, orange juice, and fresh garlic that Zell swore by. Next to that was a bottle of hair of the dog, courtesy of one Jose Cuervo. He'd drink one or the other, or more likely both, eventually. Whatever.

[Door is open. Welcome, parents!]