Who: Scar, Lust, Envy, Heather, Henry What: Super Backdated 4th Wall Post Prom Room Party Where: The Academy Warnings: PG 13 - Over consumption of Alcohol, Drunken Discussion of Sexual Themes, Mild Body Horror
With a soft rustle of fabric, she withdraws, slipping out of the bed. She's been human for a long time. She's had hangovers. The light is the enemy of the over-hanged.
Many things, really, are the enemy in this state. Scents, temperatures, sounds, tastes...the body protests against everything. But there are a few things to ease the misery, and she's familiar with those, as well.
There's a halfhearted protest when she draws away, but then the merciless direct light of the sun vanishes, and. He isn't going to complain about that.
Scar's eyes finally open, and it's very nearly audible, the way his eyelids slide like porous rubber over his eyeballs.
"When?"
It's a weak, miserable syllable, but Scar's underlying tone betrays the fact that his knee-jerk response to learning that Lust has experienced this is to find the hangover in question and punch it. The logic catches up with him a moment later.
Slowly, dreadfully, last night is flickering back into his waking mind. A muted journey of mild horror flits across his bleary features.
"Last night...."
That's about all he can muster about it right now, and it does sum the matter up more elegantly than any other words could, right now.
Lust dims the light in the room, though there's nothing she can do about the sound it makes. All she can do is close the blinds quickly.
"It was my own fault, as it always is for anyone. I wasn't careful, I was in company that wasn't being careful, and it was what is called an 'open bar'. What I remember of that evening was quite fun. The next morning was anything but."
She rejoins him on the bed, sitting on its edge to give him his space as he deals with his misery.
"We don't need to talk about last night right now. You need water."
The tension in his brow eases as she lowers the blinds. God be praised.
"I need to be put down," he counters weakly, both for last night and for how he's feeling at this very moment. He reaches haphazardly for her, but thinks better of it. He really did make a fool of himself, even... prior to The Devil's Sauce. What was it, about last night in particular? He isn't in a state to answer the question. All he knows is the creeping sense of shame.
"God..." He pushes himself partially upright, forcing his vision into focus on Lust and very nearly blinking one eye at a time. His head pounds. His stomach roils. He stares at Lust as if she were a hallucination after being lost in the wilderness for forty days. She's said that he needs water, but that has yet to translate into action.
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no subject
With a soft rustle of fabric, she withdraws, slipping out of the bed. She's been human for a long time. She's had hangovers. The light is the enemy of the over-hanged.
Many things, really, are the enemy in this state. Scents, temperatures, sounds, tastes...the body protests against everything. But there are a few things to ease the misery, and she's familiar with those, as well.
"Lucky for you, I've been through this myself."
no subject
Scar's eyes finally open, and it's very nearly audible, the way his eyelids slide like porous rubber over his eyeballs.
"When?"
It's a weak, miserable syllable, but Scar's underlying tone betrays the fact that his knee-jerk response to learning that Lust has experienced this is to find the hangover in question and punch it. The logic catches up with him a moment later.
Slowly, dreadfully, last night is flickering back into his waking mind. A muted journey of mild horror flits across his bleary features.
"Last night...."
That's about all he can muster about it right now, and it does sum the matter up more elegantly than any other words could, right now.
Last night.
no subject
Lust dims the light in the room, though there's nothing she can do about the sound it makes. All she can do is close the blinds quickly.
"It was my own fault, as it always is for anyone. I wasn't careful, I was in company that wasn't being careful, and it was what is called an 'open bar'. What I remember of that evening was quite fun. The next morning was anything but."
She rejoins him on the bed, sitting on its edge to give him his space as he deals with his misery.
"We don't need to talk about last night right now. You need water."
no subject
"I need to be put down," he counters weakly, both for last night and for how he's feeling at this very moment. He reaches haphazardly for her, but thinks better of it. He really did make a fool of himself, even... prior to The Devil's Sauce. What was it, about last night in particular? He isn't in a state to answer the question. All he knows is the creeping sense of shame.
"God..." He pushes himself partially upright, forcing his vision into focus on Lust and very nearly blinking one eye at a time. His head pounds. His stomach roils. He stares at Lust as if she were a hallucination after being lost in the wilderness for forty days. She's said that he needs water, but that has yet to translate into action.