Beer having worn off, all there is is exhaustion and the propping legs of a flurry of collabrative writings-- Teenaged!Snape being ganged up on by vicious Gryffindors, Lady Memory and The King of the Dead parleying in the Dreaming, while bedrugged slumkids stare on, and Coyote snapping off insults around the hollowed cave of the Pythia.

But the magic message portals have minds of their own, and make dust out of our dastardly plans.

And the answer is, by the by: Stand behind a tree and make carrot noises.

<<agé chose>>

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