Hannibal grunted. "Bruised a bit, but structurally sound," he called back, picking himself up off the stairs and letting go of the railing he'd clung to. "Which is more than I can probably say for my house," he sighed.

He made his way down the slope to the front door and opened it, to get immediately assaulted by a frantic, glittery flamingo. He put up his hands and tried to stave it off, only to have it cling to his shoulders, wrap its legs and wings around his head, and sit there getting feathers on him.