[ Gods. Pull yourself together, Rincewind. Petyr takes note of the drunken wizard with a hint of disdain. But he's near enough that he could potentially be the recipient of this conversation. His fingers remain tented at his torso and his gaze lingers upon the ballpit in question. ]

Have we reached the point in time where you look upon your life and despair so soon? Or perhaps the real question is, have you been drinking for the entire duration of this convention?