"Not much. I mainly— actually, I just heard from Gil that you were occupied, so this is much less of a welfare check than it could've been. You seemed very unconscious, was all. You're fine now?"

"Yes," you say. "Fine."

"I'm happy to hear it. You have had, er... a difficult month. We all have. So if there's anything you ever—" You're shaking your head. "Well, my door's open. Metaphorically. Please knock, if you can manage it. In other news, were you aware that Game Night is tonight?"

You blink. "But Game Night just—"

"That it did, Charlotte. Last month." Monty smiles genially. "I know the last one ended poorly, in more ways than one, but if it's any consolation it'd be difficult to top. If you're concerned, you can always come in when everybody's already drunk."

"Except you," you say suspiciously.

"Well, I don't intend on getting hammered. Somebody has to keep an eye on things. But Mads has suggested that one or two drinks is unlikely to burn the camp down, and I, eh, have done some testing. But that's between me and her, really. Now, I don't want to keep you, and that's all I had, so I do hope to see you later. I'll leave you to your..." He peers into your tent, seeing nothing. "...whatever it is."

>[1] You can't *not* go to Game Night. It wasn't Game Night's fault that Richard murdered your father, after all. Do you have particular objectives? (Write-in. Optional. Real choices incoming when I wake up, you know the drill)