May and Dax's Room: May (ATTN: Dax)

[tribal_may]

May slowly opened her eyes, wincing at the daylight for a moment before promptly re-closing them. She pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself, her head pounding, and swore under her breath. She did not remember getting into bed. She did not remember much of anything of the night before, actually, except for pieces of the hen party... Shit, and Zandra.... May's fingers rubbed her temple, experimentally, and, discovering that it hurt like hell, stopped. At some point in the evening, while everyone was running away and behaving like monkeys and doing whatever the hell else they had done, she had, apparently, decided that she was, against all logic, too drunk to be thinking clearly, but not nearly drunk -enough- for things to make any sense. One eye re-opened, groggily, and searched the face of the wall. She remembered, very vaguely, standing there in the office complex, alone, pouring herself more tequila, then a brandy, then a small glass of port, then... there had been more... She grimaced, gingerly; everything else was lost to the bottle, or bottles, as the case may be, and was gone. Surely she had imagined Zandra... The other eye edged open. What time was it? Late, probably; May could hear the noise that inevitably accompanied mornings in a mall inhabited by roughly three dozen teenagers, and it was not pleasant. Damned kids were probably what had woken her up...

May pushed herself into a sitting position, her face scrunching up in distaste as her head throbbed, and it was only then that she noticed the pile of flesh beside her. Her eyes flashed, as best as they could given the circumstances, and her toe poked the man in the ribs. "Dax." How did -he- get here? She poked him again, harder. "Dax!"