*is busy writing story*
*neurons suddenly want to cut feathers, be something else; all twitchy feet and sadlyfoxears that they are not some glorious peculiar thing they want to be*
*eyes up blades, alcohol and craziness*
Neurons - oi, you bastard lot - when did we last take our meds?
*neurons shuffle feet*
Right, that explains that then. Let's not forget this evening, eh? In the mean time, be as mopey as you like, but if I wake up tomorrow with massacred feathers, bleeding wrists, a monumental hangover and strange sigils carved in me, I am gonna be really PISSED THE FUCK OFF - got it? Okay.
*goes back to writing story and listening to music*
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