New York, Saturday Afternoon Into the Night

[apocalipped]

When all was said and done, Jono could honestly say that he'd had better days. Sure, he'd had worse days. His life, it seemed, was an endless parade of worse days, all vying for a position at the top of the worst-days ladder.

Comments

[hatesmoststuff]

April was... well, not drunk exactly, but on her way there, when she called Jono. Hi, Jono! Were you in the mood for a cheerier-than-usual April?

[apocalipped]

Jono was... capable of being in the mood for... he...

He seriously hadn't had enough drugs for anything bordering on cheerful!

"H'lo?" He leaned back a little and looked at the call display on his phone. "April?"

[hatesmoststuff]

"That's me," April agreed. "I got booze. Whassup?"

[apocalipped]

"I... don't have booze." A beat, while Jono looked at Miranda with pleading in his eyes.

"No," came the succinct reply, muffled for distance from the receiver. "Hospital."

"Bugger." Yeah. Yeah, Jono couldn't win, today. Life simply wasn't fair. "Is it good alcohol, at least? Import, perhaps?"

Let him live vicariously through you, April.

[hatesmoststuff]

"Dunno," came April's unhelpful response. "'s good, though. Why do you sound drunk if you don't have booze?"

[apocalipped]

"... Morphine?"

"Oxycodone, Jono." Once again, thank you, Mira.

"... Opium."

Close enough, technically.

"S'been a day. What's the bottle say? On your drink?"

[hatesmoststuff]

April squinted at it. "Cuervo."

She personally thought opium sounded cooler, but, you know.

"How come you're drugged up? You sick?"

[apocalipped]

"Not sick. Not last I checked. We stopped that from happening."

Which totally explained all of it, right? The whole technovirus and all. Right?

No?

Ah well.

"Um, got a bit banged up, though."

"He needed an emergency blood transfusion to keep from dying because of the huge gaping holes in his arm and leg," Mira said, so helpfully leaning over and yelling so that whoever was on the other end of the phone could hear her.

[hatesmoststuff]

"Dude," April said, startled enough by that bit of information to be distracted from her fun game of playing tic-tac-toe against herself with cherry stems on a cocktail napkin. "What the fuck, man? That's like the worst Saturday activity I've ever heard of."

[apocalipped]

"Could've probably come up with better," Jono agreed, sulking only just a little bit. "Wasn't how I intended t'spend my day, luv."

Most people didn't generally aim to get shot through with huge spikes, really.

[hatesmoststuff]

"Well, it sucks," she informed him. "Was gonna make you come to Indiana with me and have Puerto Rican eggnog. It's like a billion percent alcohol."

Nope!

[apocalipped]

Miranda was now getting the biggest, saddest brown eyes that Jonothon could muster.

"No," she said. "Whatever it is, no."

"When're you leaving, April?"

Jono was an adult, Miranda.

[hatesmoststuff]

April shrugged, not that Jono could see that. "Tomorrow or... somewhen."

Somewhen. It was a word if you were tipsy. Shut your face.

"When do you get out?" Like the hospital was a prison, yes. Look, there wasn't any alcohol there.

[apocalipped]

"Soon as I can shake the guards, I think," Jono decided, side-eyeing Miranda, who was just shaking her head at him. "I don't much care for hospitals."

"Jono, you can't even walk."

"Tomorrow's good."

Yeah, that would work out well.

[hatesmoststuff]

Poor, poor Miranda. Also, poor Jono, but, you know. Being shot full of spikes was one thing. Having to put up with being Jono Starsmore's caretaker was another.

"It'll be cool," April declared. "Pawnee's almost as boring as a hospital but it smells a little better and there's more racoons."

[apocalipped]

"Raccoons," Jono echoed. "Little bastards."

His experiences with raccoons were minimal. In that he had none.

"Anything I should bring?"