It’s the holidays, and it seems like excessive eating and drinking is a part of that. I can complain if you really want me to, though.

[Connor is glad that Hank won’t make himself sick with them, at least. He comes out of his room where he had been sketching idly, sitting beside Sumo on the floor. In his arms is a box, neatly decorated with a bow.

He’s only bothered to wear jeans and his dog hoodie, since he isn’t going anywhere. The hood is left down, his usually neat hair currently ruffled slightly.]