[When Liquid woke up the day after the police Christmas party, it was with a slight headache and something of a blank in his memory-- which was hardly a very surprising thing, considering the amount of alcohol that he'd consumed. He pushed his face out of the pillow, yawned widely, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands
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[Probably by punching their head clean off of their shoulders.]
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[Offhandedly,] I prefer your usual look.
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[He was pacing, restlessly, trying to remember what had happened the night before and getting blood on the carpet from his sliced up hand. He didn't appear to notice the injury at all.]
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[Liquid did certainly have his vanity, but this went beyond just his own pride. He couldn't stand the fact that he looked like his father, the man he despised and loved and hated.]
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[It wasn't so simple as that. This wasn't something that could be made better with a box of hair dye.]
I was drunk, obviously! I don't remember the particulars!
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