5. | I'd feel sorry for my muse, but I really don't.puckhead4lifeMay 28 2012, 05:44:15 UTC
[Dave groaned as he tried to roll over. He couldn't really remember falling into the bed last night, but he couldn't really remember much after the fifth shot. He was sure someone had at least gotten him into a cab safely, but he couldn't recall there being another person tagging along with him. Obviously this was the case, as there was a person laying next to him. He rubbed at his eyes, making them water slightly as he tried to make out the person next to him.]
Oh... shit.
[Realization hit him like a mack truck, just in time for the sun to decide to shine into the window and blind him. He covered his eyes and cursed as he flopped back down onto the bed. Somehow the other guy had ended up with both pillows. Figures.]
[Blaine pulled the extra pillow over his head.] Shh... no screaming. [He mumbled, drooling against his pillow, or some pillow, he didn't know where he was really. One drink and he had been singing karaoke quite loudly, two drinks and he was dirty dancing with whomever was close by, three and he swore he was on a moving boat at sea, and had a new bestest friend in the whole wide world, Davy Karofsky. They had left at the same time, that he remembered, the cab driver yelled at them that if they threw up in his cab he'd sue their asses which seemed wildly funny at the time. Now his head just hurt and he was so thirsty he'd drink out of a puddle.] Want water. [He said, trying not to move too much, there was a hammer pounding through his brain.]
[Dave glared over at the curly haired teen and pulled on the blankets that he had somehow gotten tangled up in. He very much just wanted to get himself some aspirin and then curl back up under the covers until the sun exploded, or disappeared.] I'll get it... only if you can explain what happened last night... and how you ended up here. [He was certain there hadn't been anything in those drinks. Then again, he wouldn't put it past some of the people he knew at that bar.]
The first thing Bruce notices when he wakes up is an all-encompassing, pounding headache. Really, he'd roll over and go right back to sleep if he hadn't subsequently noticed some very important, troubling facts. First, that he was definitely hungover, which rarely happened because he rarely drank. Second, this was not his bed. Or his room. Or Stark Tower. Thankfully, it didn't seem to be some kind of government base, either. It looked like some kind of...hotel suite? Where was he? He couldn't remember most of last night.
He suddenly noticed a large lump under the covers, and after quickly making sure that he was, indeed, at least wearing pants, he tried for the most obvious answer first. "Tony? Is that you?"
"Ugh go away." Darcy burrowed further, trying to ignore whoever was speaking to her at this time of day. Because she gave no shits if it was noon. She felt like she'd been hit in the head by one of Barton's exploding arrows and Thor had tap danced his way to victory on her body.
Oh. Oh god, that was...not Tony. Not that waking up next to Tony wouldn't be awkward, but he would at least have expected it a little bit more. Waking up next to Darcy, though... Regardless of what had actually happened, Thor would kill him.
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Oh... shit.
[Realization hit him like a mack truck, just in time for the sun to decide to shine into the window and blind him. He covered his eyes and cursed as he flopped back down onto the bed. Somehow the other guy had ended up with both pillows. Figures.]
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He suddenly noticed a large lump under the covers, and after quickly making sure that he was, indeed, at least wearing pants, he tried for the most obvious answer first. "Tony? Is that you?"
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"No Stark. Stark gave me Vodka. Gasoline."
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"What happened last night?"
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