[A cough jars the feed, starting it up in a careless, long swooping panoramic view of the area. It records at Sasuke's wrist and catches whatever it's facing when he lifts an arm to scrub back through his hair. Bandages trail the edge of the feed. Sasuke's arms are bound from fingers to elbow, both of them, and bleeding through in places from some
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Give me fifteen minutes.
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[He speaks so carefully, each syllable formed before he voices it. He's not going to start slurring his speech like a common drunk. He's an Uchiha, damn it.]
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No. Get your own.
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Maybe I WILL. And then I'm gonna come over there and DRINK YOU UNDER THE TABLE.
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You're going to have a terrible hangover tomorrow.
[ Drawled. ]
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