The Next Morning
A continuation of a previous post. Also written with Teresa. We have big plans for this story line :D
Frank awoke on the floor, mummified in a fleece blanket, with a post-it stuck to his forehead. The red glow of the city outside could not be stopped by the drawn blinds, and the room was littered with mail and books. Yet, the more important detail of the morning was that Frank felt like we had been hit by a Boeing 747. With quite a struggle, he managed to free a hand from the tight wrappings and peel off the note. It read:
Went out.
Told you that you would get a hangover
- Teresa
Frank elicited a groan and fought with the blanket again. In the struggle, an avalanche of books and letters fell from the nearby coffee table onto his chest. With a whine, he wormed his way to a more open part of the room, and finally managed to free himself from his fleece prison. He was still in his work clothes. His tie was nowhere to be found, but at least he still had his pants on. He bent over to pick up the mess he made, intensifying his headache, knowing that Teresa would probably notice her books were not where they were earlier. In way too much pain, he flopped back onto the couch and scanned the room for any signs of coffee.
"So you've finally joined the land of the living?" came a voice from the door to the apartment. Teresa shut the door behind her with a foot as she carried a grocery bag to the little nook that classified as her kitchen. "Well, so to speak," she amended, chuckling to herself almost bitterly as she started to unpack the bag and stick the contents into random cupboards and the refrigerator in an organized system that only made sense to her.
Frank squeezed his head between his hands, relieving some of the pain. He feared that if he let go, his head would explode and ruin the new groceries and all of the books. He hesitantly released his head, reaching his hand underneath his behind, to pull out a tie and the tie clip that was poking him in place he did not wish to be poked... today anyways.
"Do you have any coffee or anything? Ever notice how hangovers seem ten times worse in Hell?"
Teresa smiled. "Yes, I have. And as a result, I have coffee as well as a special herbal hangover medicine that I cannot tell you where I got it or I'd have to kill you."
She continued to unpack the one bag she had gotten. It had occurred to her late that night that she had absolutely nothing left in her kitchen, and regardless as to whether or not she had company, she wanted to eat, damnit, so she had woken up early to go to the market and get something in the food department. "Coffee's here, freshly made," she said, pouring two mugs of it and leaving one on the counter, sipping the other one.
"As for the hangover stuff, it's in the bathroom cupboard, and you can get that yourself as far as I'm concerned."
Frank tried to get up, only to fall back down in pain. "Thank you. I think I will go get that herbal-stuff..." his voice trailed off and he tried once again to get up.
Successful, he headed towards the bathroom in a manner much akin to Shelley's Frankenstein. He turned on the light, which was a big mistake. He eyes nearly fell out before he could get them off again. He rummaged through the cabinet. Among the pain killers, feminine hygiene products and a small amount of makeup that had seen better days, he found a small bottle, labeled with a bio-hazard warning that was written over with a black sharpie "For Hangovers." He didn't question it one bit. He opened it, and was surprised to find it was in pill form. He was expecting some plant he would have to grind up for something. He popped it without water, almost choking, but he managed to get it down. He Frankenstein-ed his way back to the kitchen, where his precious coffee was awaiting him.
Teresa had finished packing things into cupboards and the refrigerator, and had in turn perched herself upon one of the stools surrounding the counter/bar that counted as her eating area, sipping coffee. She had to keep herself from laughing at the image Frank made as he shuffled his way toward the counter and his coffee. "Am I allowed to ask how you got punted from this flat, or do you need more caffeine first?" she asked, trying to hide the smile behind the coffee mug.
Frank had almost forgotten the night before. It was definitely all the booze he somehow ingested the previous night. He almost forgot the fight he had with his roommate. The screaming, the throwing, the threats of leaving. However, in Hell, almost is just always just enough to make your day miserable. "More caffeine would most definitely be necessary," Frank managed to slip out.
Frank awoke on the floor, mummified in a fleece blanket, with a post-it stuck to his forehead. The red glow of the city outside could not be stopped by the drawn blinds, and the room was littered with mail and books. Yet, the more important detail of the morning was that Frank felt like we had been hit by a Boeing 747. With quite a struggle, he managed to free a hand from the tight wrappings and peel off the note. It read:
Went out.
Told you that you would get a hangover
- Teresa
Frank elicited a groan and fought with the blanket again. In the struggle, an avalanche of books and letters fell from the nearby coffee table onto his chest. With a whine, he wormed his way to a more open part of the room, and finally managed to free himself from his fleece prison. He was still in his work clothes. His tie was nowhere to be found, but at least he still had his pants on. He bent over to pick up the mess he made, intensifying his headache, knowing that Teresa would probably notice her books were not where they were earlier. In way too much pain, he flopped back onto the couch and scanned the room for any signs of coffee.
"So you've finally joined the land of the living?" came a voice from the door to the apartment. Teresa shut the door behind her with a foot as she carried a grocery bag to the little nook that classified as her kitchen. "Well, so to speak," she amended, chuckling to herself almost bitterly as she started to unpack the bag and stick the contents into random cupboards and the refrigerator in an organized system that only made sense to her.
Frank squeezed his head between his hands, relieving some of the pain. He feared that if he let go, his head would explode and ruin the new groceries and all of the books. He hesitantly released his head, reaching his hand underneath his behind, to pull out a tie and the tie clip that was poking him in place he did not wish to be poked... today anyways.
"Do you have any coffee or anything? Ever notice how hangovers seem ten times worse in Hell?"
Teresa smiled. "Yes, I have. And as a result, I have coffee as well as a special herbal hangover medicine that I cannot tell you where I got it or I'd have to kill you."
She continued to unpack the one bag she had gotten. It had occurred to her late that night that she had absolutely nothing left in her kitchen, and regardless as to whether or not she had company, she wanted to eat, damnit, so she had woken up early to go to the market and get something in the food department. "Coffee's here, freshly made," she said, pouring two mugs of it and leaving one on the counter, sipping the other one.
"As for the hangover stuff, it's in the bathroom cupboard, and you can get that yourself as far as I'm concerned."
Frank tried to get up, only to fall back down in pain. "Thank you. I think I will go get that herbal-stuff..." his voice trailed off and he tried once again to get up.
Successful, he headed towards the bathroom in a manner much akin to Shelley's Frankenstein. He turned on the light, which was a big mistake. He eyes nearly fell out before he could get them off again. He rummaged through the cabinet. Among the pain killers, feminine hygiene products and a small amount of makeup that had seen better days, he found a small bottle, labeled with a bio-hazard warning that was written over with a black sharpie "For Hangovers." He didn't question it one bit. He opened it, and was surprised to find it was in pill form. He was expecting some plant he would have to grind up for something. He popped it without water, almost choking, but he managed to get it down. He Frankenstein-ed his way back to the kitchen, where his precious coffee was awaiting him.
Teresa had finished packing things into cupboards and the refrigerator, and had in turn perched herself upon one of the stools surrounding the counter/bar that counted as her eating area, sipping coffee. She had to keep herself from laughing at the image Frank made as he shuffled his way toward the counter and his coffee. "Am I allowed to ask how you got punted from this flat, or do you need more caffeine first?" she asked, trying to hide the smile behind the coffee mug.
Frank had almost forgotten the night before. It was definitely all the booze he somehow ingested the previous night. He almost forgot the fight he had with his roommate. The screaming, the throwing, the threats of leaving. However, in Hell, almost is just always just enough to make your day miserable. "More caffeine would most definitely be necessary," Frank managed to slip out.