Cheryl and Pam's house [from midafternoon onwards]
There was a very valuable lesson to be learned from all this, and it was one you would have thought Cheryl would have gotten sooner: never ingest anything Krieger gives you. At least, Cheryl would have put that together if she was even vaguely aware of where she was. If Cheryl had been cognizant of her surroundings or able to process things like the passage of time and prior experiences, she would have remembered the disaster that had been Krieger Kleanse, and she would have opened the mysterious package with much more trepidation.
Maybe the lesson here was really more, "Don't accept deliveries while you're already on LSD."
Let's back up for a moment.
Cheryl had been spending a perfectly average Thursday afternoon in her half-built new mansion, blatantly trying to bang the poor contractors trying to finish putting a roof on the damn house and happily munching on groovy bears, when a package was delivered to her door. And while the contractors were obviously glad to have her out of their hair and went about their business (all the while muttering about the patches of ice they kept encountering in really weird places, oops), Cheryl was oblivious and mostly pleased that she seemed to have gotten a present in the mail.
"Hmmm," she mused, tearing open the cardboard and tape with a handy kitchen knife so as not to break her nails, "it's from ISIS. Maybe I should wait for Pam."
She was mostly just saying that aloud in case someone agreed with that statement. When no one said anything (because the contractors couldn't hear her and Babou couldn't speak using human language), she reached in through the packing peanuts and pulled out a little jar of powder. There was a note attached.
I thought you ladies could use a little excitement over there on that island. Pour one tablespoon into a glass of cold water and drink at once. Let me know what you think!
The note wasn't signed, but Cheryl knew that distinctive, vaguely psychotic handwriting anywhere. "Oh, Algernop," she sighed, turning the container over in her hand. There wasn't a label, aside from a bright little "SPECIAL K!!!" insignia. "I wonder what it does," Cheryl said, before getting herself a glass of water and pouring in roughly half the jar.
What? Like she knew what a tablespoon was, let alone whether they even had one.
And that was how Cheryl ended up in what would eventually become their attic, mostly naked and covered in scratches from fighting Babou (he pissed in her corner first, okay) before she had retreated. The contractors had cleared out awhile ago, and now Cheryl was manically painting the walls with everything she had found in the refrigerator -- ketchup, orange juice, and Bailey's, mostly.
She'd probably be like this for awhile.
[Cut for drug use! And also length. but mostly the drugs. Cheryl's on a crazy bender for the next couple days because I'm going out of town for the weekend and I needed to explain why she's not in class and this...kind of happened. Oops. Also, don't practice this at home. Cheryl is a cartoon character on a show where Pam's been eating a steady diet of cocaine for over a month, so she's going to be okay. Establishly omg but OOC welcome as always!]
Maybe the lesson here was really more, "Don't accept deliveries while you're already on LSD."
Let's back up for a moment.
Cheryl had been spending a perfectly average Thursday afternoon in her half-built new mansion, blatantly trying to bang the poor contractors trying to finish putting a roof on the damn house and happily munching on groovy bears, when a package was delivered to her door. And while the contractors were obviously glad to have her out of their hair and went about their business (all the while muttering about the patches of ice they kept encountering in really weird places, oops), Cheryl was oblivious and mostly pleased that she seemed to have gotten a present in the mail.
"Hmmm," she mused, tearing open the cardboard and tape with a handy kitchen knife so as not to break her nails, "it's from ISIS. Maybe I should wait for Pam."
She was mostly just saying that aloud in case someone agreed with that statement. When no one said anything (because the contractors couldn't hear her and Babou couldn't speak using human language), she reached in through the packing peanuts and pulled out a little jar of powder. There was a note attached.
I thought you ladies could use a little excitement over there on that island. Pour one tablespoon into a glass of cold water and drink at once. Let me know what you think!
The note wasn't signed, but Cheryl knew that distinctive, vaguely psychotic handwriting anywhere. "Oh, Algernop," she sighed, turning the container over in her hand. There wasn't a label, aside from a bright little "SPECIAL K!!!" insignia. "I wonder what it does," Cheryl said, before getting herself a glass of water and pouring in roughly half the jar.
What? Like she knew what a tablespoon was, let alone whether they even had one.
And that was how Cheryl ended up in what would eventually become their attic, mostly naked and covered in scratches from fighting Babou (he pissed in her corner first, okay) before she had retreated. The contractors had cleared out awhile ago, and now Cheryl was manically painting the walls with everything she had found in the refrigerator -- ketchup, orange juice, and Bailey's, mostly.
She'd probably be like this for awhile.
[Cut for drug use! And also length. but mostly the drugs. Cheryl's on a crazy bender for the next couple days because I'm going out of town for the weekend and I needed to explain why she's not in class and this...kind of happened. Oops. Also, don't practice this at home. Cheryl is a cartoon character on a show where Pam's been eating a steady diet of cocaine for over a month, so she's going to be okay. Establishly omg but OOC welcome as always!]