Spam;

[Cain is aware what day it is and, as you probably guessed, he's drunk. Plastered. In the garden, twirling a ripped-off stick deftly between his fingers. He only slips at the end when he's meant to catch it.

He sings, too, as he's wont to do.]

...but I've still got my health, so what do I care?
My best friend, alas, is a glass solitaire,
but I still got my health, so what do I care?

By fashion and foppery, I'm never discussed.
Attending the opry, my box would be a bust....


[ooc: feel free to catch him in the gardens, the halls, wherever. I'm not bothering with much continuity, it's a free for all.]