[It takes Lance another moment, but it isn't as productive so much as it's just noise. Residual nausea, the other worst of the night. He takes a few deep breaths and just grumbles, moving himself back slowly. He's definitely going to feel this in the morning, as he can already feel a forming headache. Leaning back into the pod, he wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand and moves the cloth back to his nose, another hand moving to his head.

Even with all of that and he still feels all out of sorts. Still way too much space alcohol in his system, and he's reached the next stage of Drunken Misery: regret.]

I hope I'm done, I wanna be done. [And then, a whine.] Shiiiiiroooo, can I take this off and lie in the back? [He isn't even sure if the pod has backseats, he didn't really get a good look at the pod. But he'd like to, it'd be much nicer.] This planet's meeeean, it hurt my face. B-but not your face, yooour face is perfect.