The morning after...again. [open]
Wanda wakes up...fairly early, maybe ten-thirty. When she does, she glances around, stares blankly at the other people in the room, muffles a vaguely mortified laugh into the bedspread, and tries to remember what the hell happened. She's not too achy, though, considering how much she drank the night before--it's a quarter to eleven when she finally rouses, padding off to first snag aspirin and water. She leaves some of that out for the others, too. It's probably best, she figures, if she keeps to herself before the medicine kicks in--although her hangover isn't terrible, she'll be irritable until she's had a shower and maybe tea.
...oh, wow, they're going to freak out. Or, well, be tremendously awkward. She wonders who will wake up first, and then decides she'll know by the shouting and/or complaining. First, shower. Then she heads down to the bar in sweatpants and a skinny-strapped tank top, to better survey the damage.
...oh, wow, they're going to freak out. Or, well, be tremendously awkward. She wonders who will wake up first, and then decides she'll know by the shouting and/or complaining. First, shower. Then she heads down to the bar in sweatpants and a skinny-strapped tank top, to better survey the damage.