BLAME IT ON THE VODKA, BLAME IT ON THE HENNY~♬

[salylimon]

Who: Emi, Ivan, Jared, Loto, and John.
When: September 10th, late evening (or early Saturday morning).
Where: Some bar, the streets of Liberty, and John's apartment. Oh, what a night~
What: There should be something wrong about this since they're technically breaking-and-entering while intoxicated. But she has a key, so it's totally legal. Yeah.

Comments

[das_vedanya]

He wrinkled his nose a touch, coming to realize that the rumors of Emi’s apartment smelling like cinnamon and nutmeg were truly, undeniably, and sadly, untrue. Still, the smell of cigarette smoke soaked into certain walls and ceiling, and made even the strange scents of Ivan’s apartment more appealing, as Natalia had forbidden him from smoking indoors. His cigarettes always mysteriously vanished, but it wasn’t something worth pondering over. He could already feel his frontal lobe screeching at him - ”Durak! I haven’t fully developed yet; even if you can’t think of the consequences of heavy drinking, you should still be aware due to your past experiences!” His ears were ringing, still. Something that sounded like the Russian author’s name that Emiliana had confused him for played on repeat: Braginsky… Trotsky… Braginsky… Trotsky… and he most certainly did not want to wake with an ice axe protruding from his underdeveloped frontal lobe

[pride_of_kiwi]

Some would say 'Hell is other people'.

Peeling open an eye lid to peer deeply into the glossy glass eyes of a mechanical sheep with its jaw hanging slightly open, Iorangi would have argued that Hell was self awareness and a hangover. It was waking up at what may or may not have been a sparrow fart placeholder on the clock- ie, too fucking early even for him- to stumble from the storage closet with a paper streamer stuck to his head toward the bathroom with every intent to bathe.

It was blindly groping for a towel from under the sink, draping that on the rack, tossing clothing on the floor and innocently taking a step into the shower only to pause with a hand on the dial because his foot was not resting on enamel.

Enamel didn't breathe.

So Hell, as it were, was perhaps two parts a painfully delirious self awareness and three parts everyone else.

Or, more specifically-

"...Doctur Breginski?"