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This is highly intolerable. [Kicks.]

Sir! This is not the place to rest. If you need a room it is polite to ask for such.

[Her response is a wretchedly low groan as he tries to curl away from her, mumbling indistinctly against the arm draped haphazardly over his face in his meager attempt to block out the sun. And now, conveniently enough, her. But what's possibly worse than his sorry carcass slumped at her front door is the strong repugnant stench of alcohol that comes with it, thick in the air and offensive enough that, really, she couldn't be blamed if she refused to go near him.]

[Lord, he's pathetic.]

I have not been able to stop giggling since I saw your comment and realized exactly who your pup was.

[THE MAN LOOKS EERILY FAMILIAR BUT THE VAMPIRE CANNOT PUT HIS FINGER ON IT. He looks upon him in disdain.]

Mon Dieu, what happened upon this soul that he cannot find solace in his own home?

[Sorry, Louis, ~~Lestat~~ - Uh, Algren is a little too content snoring noisily against your floor, flopped onto his front as he is, to be very apologetic. Not that he would be. His default position in any given situation tends to be a mixture of drunken belligerence and a cocksure attitude, so it's very likely that his response wouldn't be a, "Sorry for the inconvenience."]

[Louis let loose a huff. It would not be in his best interests to have a degenerate lying on his stoop in such a manner, should company call upon his home during hours which he could not possibly answer... or if he were engaged in activities such that would befit an immortal such as he.

Also, the man smelt quite poorly.]

Come now, chere, I would do you a great disservice to leave you here for the theives and unsavory kind of the night.

[In a blink he swooped down and had him over his shoulder with very little effort. There was still many hours before daylight and would hope to rouse the intruder before the sun rose. He intended to lay the man on the seater in his front parlor.]

[For Alrgren's part, he doesn't really stir and is certainly in no position to put up any sort of a struggle as Louis hauls him bodily over his shoulder, only managing a miserable, incoherent groan as it presses uncomfortably into his stomach. Something does fall from his numbed grip though as he's brought inside: A pewter hip flask, empty by the hollow clatter it makes as it hits the floor, rank with the smell of whiskey.]

[Not just a casual drunk then...]

Sir?" she gently calls then gracefully leans down in her silk kimono, and examines the baka gaijin while softly calling for the servents to come quickly.

"He smells so he must be breathing, lady," one man wryly remarks.

"Please, find him a place to sleep so he does not endanger himself." The lady of the house then turns and examines the slumbering drunk with a veiled look of sympathy but not much more.

[Algren's bloodshot eyes blink blearily open as he's flanked on either side and his arms are hoisted over the shoulders of her servants as they haul him inside. They meet hers for one brief, lucid moment, before he lets his chin fall back onto his chest, fighting the grip of nausea. But she shouldn't confuse it with a hangover. No, it's much worse than that.]

[He's horribly, terrifyingly sober.]