In Person | no thanks. I'm going to go find Morgan Freeman!God and ask to be his son.servingfatherNovember 8 2011, 20:18:28 UTC
[It takes him longer than it normally would because he has to pry himself from his couch but there he is, appearing in Chuck's apartment looking a little less than perfect.]
[It almost makes him laugh - the Archangel Saint Michael, leader of the Holy Host and ruler of Heaven, sword of the Almighty who is like God, having such a classic hangover reaction that he could easily be a put-upon dad or bitchy frat boy. Chuck manages to stifle his amusement, though, and haul himself off the couch onto his cane to gimp off to the kitchen.]
Take that whole bottle. Uh, for you I don't know if it would help that much. I have a few more bottles in the kitchen. [Cough.] I kind of figured something like this would happen after last night.
[And then- triumph! He finds the bag from the drug store this morning, and chuckles to himself that he, the drunken prophet, had time to get up and run errands before the ever-vigilant angel of the Lord even rolled his ass out of bed.]
Okay, I have three more bottles of ibuprofen and this - oof - gallon of Gatorade. [Which he's not even bothering to try and pick up one-handed. N o p e.] This should make just enough of a dent to get you human - or, uh, feeling okay enough to face
( ... )
[He's just going to follow Chuck into the kitchen because if Michael was unlucky enough then the prophet would fall or slam cupboard doors and the archangel might really have to strangle him just to get the noise to stop. As it is his eyes narrow at the rustling of the bag even as he literally pries the top off of the bottle rather than wrestling with the lid so he can follow the instructions. One handful after another until the entire bottle is gone.
Michael reaches for the Gatorade and lifts it easily. Before he unscrews the cap he raises an eyebrow at the prophet.]
If you hadn't been there then we may not have gotten drunk in the first place. [Way to take that literally, Michael.
With that he opens the bottle and downs a third of it.]
[He'll just reach for the second bottle, giving the lid and the pills the same treatment as he did the first.
Hang on...he was pretty sure there was water involved in last night's adventure.
Oh right. F R O W N.
If he had got any in his system then it was a complete accident because fountain water just didn't sound appealing to him now so it's a sure bet it wouldn't have sounded appealing last night when they were more focused on having fun.
So he's just...going to ignore the first comment and move on to the next one.] Please tell me it won't be your cooking.
[Shut up. He had more drinks than Lucifer and it wasn't as if he actually slept since they stumbled in and now. The couch had become his friend and he was trying to figure out how he could make the morning sun stop shining in the non-covered windows. Plus he's hardly the funniest angel.]
Let's just focus on this, shall we? [Lifting his bottle of liquid.]
[That might have been the wrong thing to say because now he is chugging it. RIGHT. DOWN. TO THE. LAST. DROP. Then he's reaching for the last bottle of pills and getting rid of those.
With that out of the way he runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out the way it should be. His head is still pounding like he's got a drumline playing in his ear but he at least feels a little more alert and focused. Moving closer to Chuck in order to zap them elsewhere.]
Where are we going? [Because he has no idea about what human restaurants would be good.]
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Enough that I'm contemplating how I'd like to silence you permanently. [Typical hungover response.]
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So you have some miracle-like cure?
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Oh, wow. You look like ass, dude.
[Ibuprofen bottle coming at your head THINK FAST]
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Thank you ever so much.
[So much sarcasm. He catches the bottle with his hand, too headachey to do it any other way.]
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Take that whole bottle. Uh, for you I don't know if it would help that much. I have a few more bottles in the kitchen. [Cough.] I kind of figured something like this would happen after last night.
[And then- triumph! He finds the bag from the drug store this morning, and chuckles to himself that he, the drunken prophet, had time to get up and run errands before the ever-vigilant angel of the Lord even rolled his ass out of bed.]
Okay, I have three more bottles of ibuprofen and this - oof - gallon of Gatorade. [Which he's not even bothering to try and pick up one-handed. N o p e.] This should make just enough of a dent to get you human - or, uh, feeling okay enough to face ( ... )
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Michael reaches for the Gatorade and lifts it easily. Before he unscrews the cap he raises an eyebrow at the prophet.]
If you hadn't been there then we may not have gotten drunk in the first place. [Way to take that literally, Michael.
With that he opens the bottle and downs a third of it.]
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This must be what college students' parents feel like.]
Uh. I told you guys to drink water. [Cough.] When that kicks in we should get more from the grocery store, then get food.
I'll let you do that. [Because talking is noise and noise is wrong. So Chuck just... sits on the nearest stool.]
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Hang on...he was pretty sure there was water involved in last night's adventure.
Oh right. F R O W N.
If he had got any in his system then it was a complete accident because fountain water just didn't sound appealing to him now so it's a sure bet it wouldn't have sounded appealing last night when they were more focused on having fun.
So he's just...going to ignore the first comment and move on to the next one.] Please tell me it won't be your cooking.
[Moar Gatorade as he waits for the answer.]
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[...He just told a hungover, extremely cranky archangel to bite him.
Oops.]
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[Completely serious as he starts in on his third bottle of pills.]
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Michael? You're not as sober as you think you are.
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Let's just focus on this, shall we? [Lifting his bottle of liquid.]
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With that out of the way he runs a hand through his hair to straighten it out the way it should be. His head is still pounding like he's got a drumline playing in his ear but he at least feels a little more alert and focused. Moving closer to Chuck in order to zap them elsewhere.]
Where are we going? [Because he has no idea about what human restaurants would be good.]
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