Fic: Last Call
Title: Last Call
Fandom: Lost Girl
Characters: Bo, Kenzi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1420
Spoilers: 1.11
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs, only the stairs were made of booze, and it was awesome."
AN: Written for the angst_bingo prompt 'amnesia'
Kenzi wonders, in a vague and faraway sort of way, why her bed is so hard? It's uncomfortable enough that she can't quite stay asleep because her neck hurts and her knee's gone dead and it's really unfair because you're supposed to sleep on 'soft' things. She's slept in a lot of beds in her life, but this one is officially the worst ever. She's going to complain to the management - as soon as she finds out who the management is.
It turns out her bed is hard because it's a table. She learns this when she tries to roll over and falls off of it. Though she lands in a pile of washing, so it's still debatable whether she's awake or not.
She's definitely awake when the box of cereal falls on her head.
"What the hell?" She complains into a random pair of her jeans - she's fairly sure they're her jeans anyway - she just hopes they're clean. "What? Why? How?" The jeans can't help with any of those questions. Or they're staying quiet just to vex her.
Kenzi thrashes her way upright, finds that it's morning, hateful, bright, and still far too early - even though the clock tells her it's close to lunchtime. The only problem with that is she doesn't remember when last night finished. There are whole, large periods of last night that are still completely missing. The last thing she remembers is being in the bar, and there was booze, and someone was laughing. She doesn't remember getting home, or falling asleep on the table - she looks down - or where her other boot is. She has the horrible feeling that someone else dressed her, and that's never a good day. Judging by the confused arrangement it was someone who was either very drunk or had only a rudimentary understanding of modern clothing. Or both.
"Bo?"
There's silence from the rest of Casa de Bo and Kenzi.
"Crap."
Kenzi stumbles her way to Bo's room, taking the cereal with her. In case she needs iron.
She finds Bo sleeping on the floor at the end of her bed, red sheets tangled around her haphazardly like some sort of kick-ass toga. She's very much not dead. Which is good. Kenzi pokes her with the foot that isn't wearing a boot. There's no reaction and Kenzi's rethinking the whole 'dead' thing. But another solid poke in the ribs gets her a huff of air and a confused, sleepy look.
"Why is the ceiling so far away," Bo asks eventually.
"Because you're on the floor," Kenzi tells her, and then pokes her again, just to be sure she's there. It wouldn't be completely weird of her to be hallucinating succubus’s all over the floor. Succubi? Succubus’s? It's too early for more than one of them, whatever they are.
Bo grabs her foot and then threatens to keep it unless she stops. Kenzi relents.
"Do you remember anything from last night?" Kenzi asks.
Bo blinks, blinks harder, then squints. In a way that says in no uncertain terms that questions are hard this close to waking up.
"Nothing after the excitable lady with a tail offered me a glass of something purple and fizzy," she says eventually.
"I think I drank some of that too. It tasted like...." Kenzi tries to think of a word to describe it.
"Purple," Bo says.
Kenzi finds herself nodding. "It did kind of taste like purple."
"I don't remember anything after that," Bo admits.
"Were we roofied? Because I don't feel roofied, but waking up somewhere with your clothes done up wrong and no memory, that never ends well." Kenzi has a second and possibly more horrible thought. "Did we kill someone? Because the last time someone we knew woke up with no memory they were framed for murder."
Kenzi lifts up her shirt and gives the low plane of her stomach a suspicious look.
"Also, I have serious stubble burn in places I didn't even know I had. I'm not sure whether to be impressed or disturbed."
Kenzi shoots a horrified look at Bo.
"Did we go to a fairy orgy, because you know, I'd think I'd want to remember something like that."
She squeezes the cereal so hard she can heard it snapping inside the box.
"I probably let elves take advantage of me. That sounds like the sort of things elves would do."
"You don't even know any elves," Bo says - from where she's still on the floor, and really, she doesn't get to be the responsible adult from that position.
"I'll willing to judge them by their reputation. Damn those elves." Kenzi lowers a hand and Bo stares at it for a second before it seems to occur to her that Kenzi is offering assistance. She grabs it and drags herself to her feet. Half her hair is sticking up on one side. Kenzi had been fairly sure Bo's hair was magical and wouldn't be caught dead looking like that.
Bo sways, then frowns, then looks something that might be confused, or just as easily constipated.
"Gonna barf?" Kenzi asks, ready to step back out of range.
"No," Bo looks up, squints. "I feel like all my hair is on fire."
Kenzi grunts. "I've had worse morning afters."
"Coffee," Bo decides.
"You're making." Kenzi picks up the trailing edge of Bo's toga and pushes her gently but firmly in the direction of the kitchen. Bo makes a noise like she may in fact be the living dead, but lets herself be pushed.
"Crap, I'm tired."
"Me too," Kenzi gives Bo side-eye. "Did you suck the life out of me? Because we've talked about that."
"Do you feel like you've had the life sucked out of you?" Bo asks, trying to get the rest of her toga into some sort of arrangement so she doesn't end up on her face.
Kenzi thinks about it for a minute.
"No, I mostly feel like I fell down a flight of stairs, only the stairs were made of booze and it was awesome."
"That definitely wasn't me," Bo says with a shake of her head. "Why is there washing all over the table...and the floor?"
"I think I was making a nest," Kenzi admits.
Bo nods, like that's a perfectly acceptable answer, and then attempts to make coffee while still clearly missing important brain cells. But Kenzi remembers where the extinguisher is if she sets anything on fire. She moves enough clothing so she can sit down and that's when she notices there's a piece of paper taped to the far wall.
"What's that?"
Bo sees it the moment she points, reaches out and tugs it off the wall. "It's a letter."
Kenzi pulls a handful of cereal out of the box. "A ransom letter, please tell me it's not a ransom letter."
"It's to you, from you, apparently."
"What?" Kenzi looks at her over her mouthful of cereal.
Bo holds it out.
"I wrote a letter to myself." Kenzi turns the paper, stares at the messy, drunken scrawl of her own handwriting. Well what do you know, she did write a letter to herself.
"'Dear Kenzi, got invited to a Crusikhal...Creshikihel?'"
"A what?" Bo asks, from where she's now sat on the other side of the table with her coffee, holding her head with one hand like it's in danger of sliding off her shoulders.
Kenzi has a few more goes at pronouncing it. Then just makes a confused noise at the back of her throat.
"A fae hen night apparently. I put that helpfully in brackets. '...at the bar. Just to let you know that the magical purple booze sometimes makes you forget pretty much everything you did the night before. So, there's a good chance you're going to remember almost nothing when you wake up....' something, something that's completely illegible - looks like swearing, 'and you didn't kill anyone, so don't freak out. You've probably guessed already that you had sex with someone you really, really shouldn't have done. But it was unexpectedly awesome so don't even worry about it, you probably won't remember tomorrow anyway. Kenzi. P.S. Bo really liked the fairy booze. She does not want to know what she got up to last night.'"
Kenzi stares at the letter. "Wow, drunk me's spelling is awful. But look, I doodled a picture of you enjoying yourself." She turns the paper around so Bo can see it.
"It's very flattering," Bo says deadpan, though Kenzi can see a smile under there.
Kenzi grins at it. "I like the way I made it look like your hair is eating that guy."
Fandom: Lost Girl
Characters: Bo, Kenzi
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1420
Spoilers: 1.11
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: "I feel like I fell down a flight of stairs, only the stairs were made of booze, and it was awesome."
AN: Written for the angst_bingo prompt 'amnesia'
Kenzi wonders, in a vague and faraway sort of way, why her bed is so hard? It's uncomfortable enough that she can't quite stay asleep because her neck hurts and her knee's gone dead and it's really unfair because you're supposed to sleep on 'soft' things. She's slept in a lot of beds in her life, but this one is officially the worst ever. She's going to complain to the management - as soon as she finds out who the management is.
It turns out her bed is hard because it's a table. She learns this when she tries to roll over and falls off of it. Though she lands in a pile of washing, so it's still debatable whether she's awake or not.
She's definitely awake when the box of cereal falls on her head.
"What the hell?" She complains into a random pair of her jeans - she's fairly sure they're her jeans anyway - she just hopes they're clean. "What? Why? How?" The jeans can't help with any of those questions. Or they're staying quiet just to vex her.
Kenzi thrashes her way upright, finds that it's morning, hateful, bright, and still far too early - even though the clock tells her it's close to lunchtime. The only problem with that is she doesn't remember when last night finished. There are whole, large periods of last night that are still completely missing. The last thing she remembers is being in the bar, and there was booze, and someone was laughing. She doesn't remember getting home, or falling asleep on the table - she looks down - or where her other boot is. She has the horrible feeling that someone else dressed her, and that's never a good day. Judging by the confused arrangement it was someone who was either very drunk or had only a rudimentary understanding of modern clothing. Or both.
"Bo?"
There's silence from the rest of Casa de Bo and Kenzi.
"Crap."
Kenzi stumbles her way to Bo's room, taking the cereal with her. In case she needs iron.
She finds Bo sleeping on the floor at the end of her bed, red sheets tangled around her haphazardly like some sort of kick-ass toga. She's very much not dead. Which is good. Kenzi pokes her with the foot that isn't wearing a boot. There's no reaction and Kenzi's rethinking the whole 'dead' thing. But another solid poke in the ribs gets her a huff of air and a confused, sleepy look.
"Why is the ceiling so far away," Bo asks eventually.
"Because you're on the floor," Kenzi tells her, and then pokes her again, just to be sure she's there. It wouldn't be completely weird of her to be hallucinating succubus’s all over the floor. Succubi? Succubus’s? It's too early for more than one of them, whatever they are.
Bo grabs her foot and then threatens to keep it unless she stops. Kenzi relents.
"Do you remember anything from last night?" Kenzi asks.
Bo blinks, blinks harder, then squints. In a way that says in no uncertain terms that questions are hard this close to waking up.
"Nothing after the excitable lady with a tail offered me a glass of something purple and fizzy," she says eventually.
"I think I drank some of that too. It tasted like...." Kenzi tries to think of a word to describe it.
"Purple," Bo says.
Kenzi finds herself nodding. "It did kind of taste like purple."
"I don't remember anything after that," Bo admits.
"Were we roofied? Because I don't feel roofied, but waking up somewhere with your clothes done up wrong and no memory, that never ends well." Kenzi has a second and possibly more horrible thought. "Did we kill someone? Because the last time someone we knew woke up with no memory they were framed for murder."
Kenzi lifts up her shirt and gives the low plane of her stomach a suspicious look.
"Also, I have serious stubble burn in places I didn't even know I had. I'm not sure whether to be impressed or disturbed."
Kenzi shoots a horrified look at Bo.
"Did we go to a fairy orgy, because you know, I'd think I'd want to remember something like that."
She squeezes the cereal so hard she can heard it snapping inside the box.
"I probably let elves take advantage of me. That sounds like the sort of things elves would do."
"You don't even know any elves," Bo says - from where she's still on the floor, and really, she doesn't get to be the responsible adult from that position.
"I'll willing to judge them by their reputation. Damn those elves." Kenzi lowers a hand and Bo stares at it for a second before it seems to occur to her that Kenzi is offering assistance. She grabs it and drags herself to her feet. Half her hair is sticking up on one side. Kenzi had been fairly sure Bo's hair was magical and wouldn't be caught dead looking like that.
Bo sways, then frowns, then looks something that might be confused, or just as easily constipated.
"Gonna barf?" Kenzi asks, ready to step back out of range.
"No," Bo looks up, squints. "I feel like all my hair is on fire."
Kenzi grunts. "I've had worse morning afters."
"Coffee," Bo decides.
"You're making." Kenzi picks up the trailing edge of Bo's toga and pushes her gently but firmly in the direction of the kitchen. Bo makes a noise like she may in fact be the living dead, but lets herself be pushed.
"Crap, I'm tired."
"Me too," Kenzi gives Bo side-eye. "Did you suck the life out of me? Because we've talked about that."
"Do you feel like you've had the life sucked out of you?" Bo asks, trying to get the rest of her toga into some sort of arrangement so she doesn't end up on her face.
Kenzi thinks about it for a minute.
"No, I mostly feel like I fell down a flight of stairs, only the stairs were made of booze and it was awesome."
"That definitely wasn't me," Bo says with a shake of her head. "Why is there washing all over the table...and the floor?"
"I think I was making a nest," Kenzi admits.
Bo nods, like that's a perfectly acceptable answer, and then attempts to make coffee while still clearly missing important brain cells. But Kenzi remembers where the extinguisher is if she sets anything on fire. She moves enough clothing so she can sit down and that's when she notices there's a piece of paper taped to the far wall.
"What's that?"
Bo sees it the moment she points, reaches out and tugs it off the wall. "It's a letter."
Kenzi pulls a handful of cereal out of the box. "A ransom letter, please tell me it's not a ransom letter."
"It's to you, from you, apparently."
"What?" Kenzi looks at her over her mouthful of cereal.
Bo holds it out.
"I wrote a letter to myself." Kenzi turns the paper, stares at the messy, drunken scrawl of her own handwriting. Well what do you know, she did write a letter to herself.
"'Dear Kenzi, got invited to a Crusikhal...Creshikihel?'"
"A what?" Bo asks, from where she's now sat on the other side of the table with her coffee, holding her head with one hand like it's in danger of sliding off her shoulders.
Kenzi has a few more goes at pronouncing it. Then just makes a confused noise at the back of her throat.
"A fae hen night apparently. I put that helpfully in brackets. '...at the bar. Just to let you know that the magical purple booze sometimes makes you forget pretty much everything you did the night before. So, there's a good chance you're going to remember almost nothing when you wake up....' something, something that's completely illegible - looks like swearing, 'and you didn't kill anyone, so don't freak out. You've probably guessed already that you had sex with someone you really, really shouldn't have done. But it was unexpectedly awesome so don't even worry about it, you probably won't remember tomorrow anyway. Kenzi. P.S. Bo really liked the fairy booze. She does not want to know what she got up to last night.'"
Kenzi stares at the letter. "Wow, drunk me's spelling is awful. But look, I doodled a picture of you enjoying yourself." She turns the paper around so Bo can see it.
"It's very flattering," Bo says deadpan, though Kenzi can see a smile under there.
Kenzi grins at it. "I like the way I made it look like your hair is eating that guy."