Three Tequila Floor
Prompt: Talk about your friends
Schroeder stared at the finger pointing toward his nose. His eyes crossed behind his glasses to look at the finger, worsening his already poor eyesight and alcohol induced headache. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, addressing the finger rather than the person attached to it.
Rerun van Pelt slumped toward him, hand that wasn't pointing bracing himself against the bar, palm flat. "You're..." the slurred word hung in the air while Rerun searched for the words he wanted to follow it. "You're no fun."
"Excuse me?" Schroeder pulled back, pushing himself away from the finger and almost falling off his barstool in the process. When re regained what was left of his shaky equilibrium, Schroeder adjusted his glasses and after four attempts, managed to quirk an eyebrow. "How can you possibly say that I'm not fun? I paid for you to get this way, didn't I?" He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing, lifting his own index finger and shoving it right back to his friend. "And might I add that I'm beginning to regret it. Your breath is absolutely putrid."
"Well it's a good thing I have no plans to kiss anybody tonight," Rerun retorted.
Schroeder had to smirk. Even with the impaired speech, his friend was still funny. "Tch. Neither will I now. Some wingman you are."
"Wingman? Who said anything about me being a wingman?"
"You did."
"When?"
"When you rudely asked me everything I would like in a potential date so you could find me one."
Rerun motioned for another shot of tequila. "Oh. Right." He stared blankly into the shotglass before throwing his head back and quickly swallowing the shot. When he raised his head again, Rerun pressed his eyes tightly closed, opening them wide again along with his mouth, his entire face gaping. Before he could recompose his features, Rerun was greeted with a bright flash of light that sent a startled arm flying backwards, hitting the shoulder of a burly man sitting behind him. "What the hell did you have to do that for?!"
Schroeder merely grinned as he held his camera at face level, reviewing the rather unflattering picture he had just taken of his friend. "I had a promise to keep with Linus, I hope you don't mind."
"Oh it's on-on now. And before you ask, yes, I did the hyphen thing." Rerun used his practiced index finger to point once again, this time to the glass in front of Schroeder. "Drink up, old man."
"I am not-"
"You are. Now shut up and drink. I have a bet to win."
Schroeder stared at the finger pointing toward his nose. His eyes crossed behind his glasses to look at the finger, worsening his already poor eyesight and alcohol induced headache. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked, addressing the finger rather than the person attached to it.
Rerun van Pelt slumped toward him, hand that wasn't pointing bracing himself against the bar, palm flat. "You're..." the slurred word hung in the air while Rerun searched for the words he wanted to follow it. "You're no fun."
"Excuse me?" Schroeder pulled back, pushing himself away from the finger and almost falling off his barstool in the process. When re regained what was left of his shaky equilibrium, Schroeder adjusted his glasses and after four attempts, managed to quirk an eyebrow. "How can you possibly say that I'm not fun? I paid for you to get this way, didn't I?" He paused, closing his eyes and swallowing, lifting his own index finger and shoving it right back to his friend. "And might I add that I'm beginning to regret it. Your breath is absolutely putrid."
"Well it's a good thing I have no plans to kiss anybody tonight," Rerun retorted.
Schroeder had to smirk. Even with the impaired speech, his friend was still funny. "Tch. Neither will I now. Some wingman you are."
"Wingman? Who said anything about me being a wingman?"
"You did."
"When?"
"When you rudely asked me everything I would like in a potential date so you could find me one."
Rerun motioned for another shot of tequila. "Oh. Right." He stared blankly into the shotglass before throwing his head back and quickly swallowing the shot. When he raised his head again, Rerun pressed his eyes tightly closed, opening them wide again along with his mouth, his entire face gaping. Before he could recompose his features, Rerun was greeted with a bright flash of light that sent a startled arm flying backwards, hitting the shoulder of a burly man sitting behind him. "What the hell did you have to do that for?!"
Schroeder merely grinned as he held his camera at face level, reviewing the rather unflattering picture he had just taken of his friend. "I had a promise to keep with Linus, I hope you don't mind."
"Oh it's on-on now. And before you ask, yes, I did the hyphen thing." Rerun used his practiced index finger to point once again, this time to the glass in front of Schroeder. "Drink up, old man."
"I am not-"
"You are. Now shut up and drink. I have a bet to win."