I don't know about you, [ glass tipped side-to-side in her palm, gaze following the shifting surface as bourbon sloshes from wall to wall of the glass ] But I'm getting really tired of waking up in places I never asked to be.

[ is that an incident that can be corroborated, nerd fitz? she's not angry at him, really, knows it's not his fault this is all happening — but he's the only one here, so he gets the brunt of her dissatisfaction.

he also gets a small measure of vampiric self-preservation in the form of wary questioning, offered as non-confrontational as possible. if they remember the same dream, he'll remember doing what she asked. not because he'd wanted to, though compulsion certainly made it feel that way, but because he'd had no other choice. she may not be able to do that here... but that doesn't mean she won't rely on his awareness of it to perhaps back her up.

a wingman, if wingmen were intimidation techniques for blonde haired, blue eyed teenage sweethearts. ]

You're not planning on telling people you dreamed about me, are you?