Wesley Richter

[Zapp]

"Herr Richter? Herr Richter?"

A hand shook the slumbering form of Wesley, slumped in a comfy armchair in the Stuttgart Biergarten -- Darmstadt's finest bar. Groggily, Wesley came to.

"Dammit Wenzel, what'd I say..."

He couldn't quite remember what he had said. Something about not waking him up. Or letting Udo sit on him.

"I am quite sorry, Herr Richter. I know you are die Hero of Stuttgart," he said to Wesley's growled protests that he wasn't any damn fool hero, "but you've been in here for the past 28 hours."

Anything Wesley had been saying was caught in his throat, and in a rather high octave, he inquired:

"Twenty-eight hours?" Wenzel nodded gravely.

"But... but..."

"What is wrong, Herr Richter?"

Suddenly, in a burst of surprising -- given his previous lethargic state -- stamina, he was out of his chair and bounding around the bar in a flash.

"I'M FREE! FREEEEEEEEE! Wenzel, get a round for everyone, on my tab!"

"But Herr Richter, you drink free..."

"Then everyone gets a free round! I'M FREE!"

To Wesley, it seemed as if the curse of the Wrath addiction had been lifted.