(open) sleepasta.
WHO: venividiarresi and whoever wants to join him.
WHEN: August 3rd, 11PM.
WHERE: The kitchen.
WHAT: Side effects of Halludrin XR may include: nausea and vomiting, diarrhea, irritation of the skin, dry mouth, headaches, and attempting to make pasta in your sleep.
That Italy had managed to go so far while under the effects of medication either hinted to some unrealized strength or an obsession with pasta that bordered on physical addiction.
Somehow, Italy had made it all the way from his room in the freezing (but strangely wet, as of late) north wing to the kitchen without running into any walls or waking up. He had also successfully found a pot in one of the cabinets, placed it in the sink, and turned on the tap. Italy felt around for some dry pasta, which he set down on the counter beside him; then returned to the sink, retrieved his pot, and placed it on the stove. All that was left for him to do was turn it on and let it boil.
At least, that's all that should have been left. In actuality, Italy had failed to place the pot directly under the faucet, which meant that there was no water in it when he carried it over to the stove; and in taking out the pasta, he unwittingly spilled it all over the counter and floor. He hadn't even turned the stove on, he'd just jabbed it a bit a few times and let out a quiet "veee." In his mind, however, that must have been enough to get it to work.
"Veee," he said again. Italy stood by the stove, unconscious, unaware that he was not boiling much of anything, yet content despite it all. There was pasta underneath his feet, and behind him, the tap was still running. None of that seemed to matter, though. He was too busy cooking pasta in his dreams.
WHEN: August 3rd, 11PM.
WHERE: The kitchen.
WHAT: Side effects of Halludrin XR may include: nausea and vomiting, diarrhea, irritation of the skin, dry mouth, headaches, and attempting to make pasta in your sleep.
That Italy had managed to go so far while under the effects of medication either hinted to some unrealized strength or an obsession with pasta that bordered on physical addiction.
Somehow, Italy had made it all the way from his room in the freezing (but strangely wet, as of late) north wing to the kitchen without running into any walls or waking up. He had also successfully found a pot in one of the cabinets, placed it in the sink, and turned on the tap. Italy felt around for some dry pasta, which he set down on the counter beside him; then returned to the sink, retrieved his pot, and placed it on the stove. All that was left for him to do was turn it on and let it boil.
At least, that's all that should have been left. In actuality, Italy had failed to place the pot directly under the faucet, which meant that there was no water in it when he carried it over to the stove; and in taking out the pasta, he unwittingly spilled it all over the counter and floor. He hadn't even turned the stove on, he'd just jabbed it a bit a few times and let out a quiet "veee." In his mind, however, that must have been enough to get it to work.
"Veee," he said again. Italy stood by the stove, unconscious, unaware that he was not boiling much of anything, yet content despite it all. There was pasta underneath his feet, and behind him, the tap was still running. None of that seemed to matter, though. He was too busy cooking pasta in his dreams.