‘Sinbad!’ A woman’s voice calls out.
Sinbad’s eyes finally snap open. He finds himself on the floor of a tavern. It seems like a vaguely familiar place.
‘Where am I?’ Sinbad wonders aloud.
‘Sinbad. You are an idiot.’ Lucy answers back.
Lucy has been standing over him hollering his name for the last fifteen minutes, and is understandably upset that he does not seem concerned about his prolonged nap on the floor of Ali's Tavern.
Still confused, Sinbad sits up to look around. Dark, rough hewn boards make up the floor and walls of this strange place, and while there are many people bustling about, they seem more interested in getting the bar-keep - who also seems vaguely familiar - to fill their glasses, than they are in finding out why Sinbad is lying on the floor.
‘Right. But where are we, again?’ Sinbad has not quite puzzled out that he is still in the tavern. The only tavern he has ever been in. The tavern where he has been nearly every day for the entirety of winter.
‘We are in Ali’s Tavern, Sinbad. Are you feeling alright? You...’ Lucy doesn’t have the chance to finish her thought.
‘Right-o. Let’s get back to it.’ Sinbad says with more charisma than should be possible for someone who spent the last fifteen minutes knocked out cold on the floor.
Hopping up from his resting position on the floor-boards and onto his feet in one graceful motion, Sinbad heads out the door, whistling a happy tune. Lucy sighs audibly, but follows him out nonetheless.