013. Video
[OOC: SUP GUYS this is backdated to the day after Heather and Liquid decided that booze was the answer to their problems. ... Which means... this is awhile ago. SORRY I AM A HORRIBLE CONTINUITY-KILLING PERSON. The end results of this post will more or less explain why Heather's been quiet for awhile in the meantime. Sorry sorry sorry! Also I apologize in advance for Heather's relatively uncreative vulgarity.]
[The feed's been on for awhile. It's been aiming straight upwards, giving a worm's eye view of the robin's egg blue, cloud-scudded sky, framed by a tight ring of pine trees. Pidgeys are chirping. A breeze makes the trees sway and lean. It's an incredible, beautiful day.]
[And Heather feels like someone ran over her head with a steamroller and then allowed an obese man on a pogo stick to use her skull as a trampoline for a few hours. And also the pogo stick was actually a live bear.]
[The first words out of her mouth, should anyone have happened to blip onto her feed at just the right time, were:]
... Jesus whoremongling shitfuck. Ass.
[This is the voice of someone who is pretty much angry at everything that ever existed right now. And also the voice of someone who feels like their head is trapped in the Large Hadron Collider. So it's pretty much the most pathetic whimper that anyone here has probably ever heard coming out of Heather's mouth. But it's still filled with rage, so, y'know.]
[The camera tumbles sideways as she sits up-- apparently it was lying on her stomach. Once on the ground, it gives everybody a nice view of where she was sleeping, which was evidently the bottom of some tree, somewhere. And also a nice view of Cujo's feet. Ten guesses who had woken her up.]
Hnnnggh, oh, fuck ... go lick someone else for a fuckin' while, you stupid goddamn dog. Get.
[Shoving the concerned Growlithe away with one foot, Heather right-sided the Pokegear and lifted an arm to wipe the coating of puppy drool off of her face, grimacing and letting out a low moan of pain. Kids? Alcohol is bad. This is what it does to you. It sure as hell isn't the first hangover she's had, but it IS probably one of the worst. If only because it's the first one she's had in a good long while. That and before, she'd never been drinking anything that had come out of a garbage bag. Her eyes are bloodshot and baggy, her hair is sticking straight up on one side, and as the cherry on the cake, she appears to be wearing her vest sideways with her head sticking through one of the arm-holes.]
Fuckin' ... never again.
[Covering her eyes to blot out Mr. Sun, who had apparently decided that he did not want to be her friend anymore and furthermore that her eyes were his mortal enemy that must be destroyed, she peered downwards and finally noticed the cheery little red light on the 'Gear that indicated that her pain was currently being broadcast far and wide. Gritting her teeth, she reached down and picked it up.]
Boys n'girls, this is a public services announcement. I am so fucking hungover right now.
Yep.
That's it.
That's the public announcement.
You're welcome.
Liquid, m'gonna kill ya. Twice. I don't care that it was my idea.
I am pretty much angry at everything in the world except for starving Nigerian orphans.
..... does Nigeria even fucking exist here?
... No. No it doesn't
Fuck.
I guess I'm angry at everything then.
Fucking dadaists.
[Feed goes black. ... Apparently, Heather doesn't like dadaists.]
[The feed's been on for awhile. It's been aiming straight upwards, giving a worm's eye view of the robin's egg blue, cloud-scudded sky, framed by a tight ring of pine trees. Pidgeys are chirping. A breeze makes the trees sway and lean. It's an incredible, beautiful day.]
[And Heather feels like someone ran over her head with a steamroller and then allowed an obese man on a pogo stick to use her skull as a trampoline for a few hours. And also the pogo stick was actually a live bear.]
[The first words out of her mouth, should anyone have happened to blip onto her feed at just the right time, were:]
... Jesus whoremongling shitfuck. Ass.
[This is the voice of someone who is pretty much angry at everything that ever existed right now. And also the voice of someone who feels like their head is trapped in the Large Hadron Collider. So it's pretty much the most pathetic whimper that anyone here has probably ever heard coming out of Heather's mouth. But it's still filled with rage, so, y'know.]
[The camera tumbles sideways as she sits up-- apparently it was lying on her stomach. Once on the ground, it gives everybody a nice view of where she was sleeping, which was evidently the bottom of some tree, somewhere. And also a nice view of Cujo's feet. Ten guesses who had woken her up.]
Hnnnggh, oh, fuck ... go lick someone else for a fuckin' while, you stupid goddamn dog. Get.
[Shoving the concerned Growlithe away with one foot, Heather right-sided the Pokegear and lifted an arm to wipe the coating of puppy drool off of her face, grimacing and letting out a low moan of pain. Kids? Alcohol is bad. This is what it does to you. It sure as hell isn't the first hangover she's had, but it IS probably one of the worst. If only because it's the first one she's had in a good long while. That and before, she'd never been drinking anything that had come out of a garbage bag. Her eyes are bloodshot and baggy, her hair is sticking straight up on one side, and as the cherry on the cake, she appears to be wearing her vest sideways with her head sticking through one of the arm-holes.]
Fuckin' ... never again.
[Covering her eyes to blot out Mr. Sun, who had apparently decided that he did not want to be her friend anymore and furthermore that her eyes were his mortal enemy that must be destroyed, she peered downwards and finally noticed the cheery little red light on the 'Gear that indicated that her pain was currently being broadcast far and wide. Gritting her teeth, she reached down and picked it up.]
Boys n'girls, this is a public services announcement. I am so fucking hungover right now.
Yep.
That's it.
That's the public announcement.
You're welcome.
Liquid, m'gonna kill ya. Twice. I don't care that it was my idea.
I am pretty much angry at everything in the world except for starving Nigerian orphans.
..... does Nigeria even fucking exist here?
... No. No it doesn't
Fuck.
I guess I'm angry at everything then.
Fucking dadaists.
[Feed goes black. ... Apparently, Heather doesn't like dadaists.]