Robert eyed the stack of playing cards morosely. He'd tried making a card castle, but he'd elbowed it over accidentally when Chris had yelled something into the phone about toppings. He'd even used the-- wow, that's a new development, extra chunky-- peanut better to try and glue the cards together, but needless to say that hadn't really worked. He'd been left with two parts peanuty-slash-buttery globs all over his bicycle deck and it was kind of depressing him.
He peeled a sticky card off of the table as Chris flopped down into the chair next to Christian. His phone hadn't buzzed in an hour, and he knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of his sleep-addled brain, that he'd forgotten to charge it. Balls.
"Let's... not." He mumbled, peering over his slumped arms childishly. The card stuck to his finger. He wriggled it wildly to get it off. "Team-building exercise fifty-five; sit and mope. And, go."
"I've got nothing to mope about," said Chris with irritable cheerfulness for that hour in the afternoon, or, well, any part of the day. "You know how it is. Not all break-ups go badly."
He grinned charmingly, plucked the card from the waving finger, then applied it carefully to Robert's nose. "And I'll be damned if I let any of you go without cleaning this place up. We've got a mission and we're sticking to it. NO ILLEGAL METHODS. None. Not like last time. We're not hiring the goddamn Mafia to 'clean out' this place. We owe Michael enough as it is."
"Right, right," said Robert unenthusiastically, crossing his eyes to look at the card stuck to his nose. He plucked it off and licked it half-heartedly. "You're Mr. Sunshine, we got it. Sunshine cleaning. Cleaner. Ers."
He slumped further into his chair, mourning the loss of his quick ticket out of there-- if only he could reach Aaron and have him rescue him from Chris' evil clutches, which weren't so much evil as reasonable, but still-- "I don't want to," he whined. "This mission sucks. Michael can do it himself."
Slowly, petulantly, he began stacking the cards on top of each other, painstakingly cleaning each one with his tongue before putting it back in the pile. If he was going to clean, he was going to get a snack out of it too.
Christian wrinkled his nose at Robert's methods and snatched up a few of the cards himself. Disappointingly, the peanut butter merely stuck to him and wouldn't let up; he stared at the cards for several moments. Ace of clubs, king of hearts, two of hearts. Peeling them off one by one, he went to wipe the peanut butter off onto his pants, finding that slightly less distressing than what Robert was doing, when he realized that he wasn't wearing any.
"That's weird," he said musingly, staring down at his bare legs and frowning. "I don't remember taking these off." Christian glanced around the room and didn't see them anywhere, so he shrugged it off.
"Chris, can we please stop Robert from licking the playing cards? Do you know what kind of bodily fluids could be on there? Besides, even the obvious, but then... there are usually enough things with that--" Christian cut himself off, not wanting to continue that train of thought. Last time he had to get semen pumped out of his stomach kind of permanently put him off of it.
Paul unstuck his eyelids, and promptly rolled off the couch onto the floor. Fwump. "Zeus's great flaming cock and balls. Where am I?" he mumbled into the carpet.
He turned his head and squinted at the shiny objects next to him. His eyes slowly focussed. "What kind of hell would taunt me with empty bottles? Jesus. Oh, wait, that's lovely. I'm still a bit drunk. Not all's lost. Who was that chap-- that chap with the lovely, the lovely bum..."
Maggie had woken up about half an hour ago with an incredible splitting pain in her forehead. Not only had she made a great deal of it by expressing her agony with various groans and yowls, but she'd stumbled around until she found the bathroom where Michael had some emergency aspirins.
Since then, she'd been making herself busy by picking up various bottles and articles of trash that littered the floors and furniture. After all, she was partly responsible for whatever whirlwind she'd caused when she had been drunk.
As she stepped into one section of the living room, she noticed a man laying face down on the carpet. Bottles of all shapes and sizes sat beside him and she assumed he was feeling the very same effects of last night that she had been experiencing upon awakening.
"Got a hangover?" she questioned, walking over and collecting the bottles up from their waiting line. "You know, there are some aspirin in the bathroom. Or I could make the perfect hangover cure if you're up for experimental aid."
"Are you the chap with the lovely bum?" said Paul, gazing blearily up at her. "Or are you the wizard who can take me to him? Christ on a pogo stick, you're an American. Where am I?"
Robert had to stop himself from gravitating towards the milk and cream, remembering that a good cup of strong, black coffee what the ticket to keep himself from flopping over in the middle of a conversation and snoring it off. He took a sip and barely registered how it scorched down his throat, also barely registering the reappearance Christian with his best friend Aaron. Anything, at this point, was a welcome remedy
( ... )
Comments 70
He peeled a sticky card off of the table as Chris flopped down into the chair next to Christian. His phone hadn't buzzed in an hour, and he knew, somewhere in the deep recesses of his sleep-addled brain, that he'd forgotten to charge it. Balls.
"Let's... not." He mumbled, peering over his slumped arms childishly. The card stuck to his finger. He wriggled it wildly to get it off. "Team-building exercise fifty-five; sit and mope. And, go."
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He grinned charmingly, plucked the card from the waving finger, then applied it carefully to Robert's nose. "And I'll be damned if I let any of you go without cleaning this place up. We've got a mission and we're sticking to it. NO ILLEGAL METHODS. None. Not like last time. We're not hiring the goddamn Mafia to 'clean out' this place. We owe Michael enough as it is."
Reply
He slumped further into his chair, mourning the loss of his quick ticket out of there-- if only he could reach Aaron and have him rescue him from Chris' evil clutches, which weren't so much evil as reasonable, but still-- "I don't want to," he whined. "This mission sucks. Michael can do it himself."
Slowly, petulantly, he began stacking the cards on top of each other, painstakingly cleaning each one with his tongue before putting it back in the pile. If he was going to clean, he was going to get a snack out of it too.
Reply
"That's weird," he said musingly, staring down at his bare legs and frowning. "I don't remember taking these off." Christian glanced around the room and didn't see them anywhere, so he shrugged it off.
"Chris, can we please stop Robert from licking the playing cards? Do you know what kind of bodily fluids could be on there? Besides, even the obvious, but then... there are usually enough things with that--" Christian cut himself off, not wanting to continue that train of thought. Last time he had to get semen pumped out of his stomach kind of permanently put him off of it.
Reply
He turned his head and squinted at the shiny objects next to him. His eyes slowly focussed. "What kind of hell would taunt me with empty bottles? Jesus. Oh, wait, that's lovely. I'm still a bit drunk. Not all's lost. Who was that chap-- that chap with the lovely, the lovely bum..."
Reply
Since then, she'd been making herself busy by picking up various bottles and articles of trash that littered the floors and furniture. After all, she was partly responsible for whatever whirlwind she'd caused when she had been drunk.
As she stepped into one section of the living room, she noticed a man laying face down on the carpet. Bottles of all shapes and sizes sat beside him and she assumed he was feeling the very same effects of last night that she had been experiencing upon awakening.
"Got a hangover?" she questioned, walking over and collecting the bottles up from their waiting line. "You know, there are some aspirin in the bathroom. Or I could make the perfect hangover cure if you're up for experimental aid."
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