[ Matt groans as Tezca slumps back onto him. Like his previous indistinct noise, this one is slightly ambivalent: oof combined with ticklish pleasure for the feeling of lips at his neck. It doesn't have to be fancy to feel good. ]

To them we're the aliens, [ he points out. ] Or, I am. I didn't get around to asking how they feel about gods.

[ His memories of the strip club are awesome, if unfortunately hazy. ]

Vodka ... my ancient nemesis.