Her body felt heavy and cobwebs seemed to fill her head and vision. She tried to open her eyes and despite the lack of light in the room, it pained them compared to the darkness behind closed lids. A soft groan left the blonde's lips and tried to pull herself up. Siting upright, Integra groped for her glasses. Finding them, they were replaced upon her face and adjusted. What she saw however, was more excruciating than the migraine that was settling in.
Bile rose in the back of the woman's throat and she hastily threw herself from the bed. Hellsing's director made it to the bathroom just in time to expel whatever she had ingested the night before. From the look of things it was a great deal of alcohol. Considering the large form that had been merely inches from her that slumbered like a bear under the sheets, it was no wonder. Moving to the sink with trembling hands, the heir fumbled to turn on the faucet and rinse her mouth. Bracing both upon the cool counter-top, she peered at her reflection. Golden tresses were tangled and matted; bedhead. She still had her pants and white undershirt on, so nothing too absurd had happened.
Thank God, Integra thought to herself with relief. Even so, every inch of her felt disgusting. It wouldn't be enough to peel her very skin off. Hastily, the Englishwoman began gathering her things; or rather, what she could find of them. Slipping on her coat and carrying her shoes along, she slipped out the door without so much as stirring Millennium's leader.
It took a great deal of effort to choke back another swing of nausea and a bare hand jabbed repeatedly at the elevator button. Confused, sick, hungover, and lost were not things she was accustomed to. For Christ's sake! Whether or not there was a reason Integra Hellsing had allowed herself to stoop so low and become entirely wasted was not of her concern. She wanted nothing to do with that man or the very memory of whatever had happened! The sooner she returned to Hellsing, the better.
