(Untitled)

[cowboy_aloft]

Characters: Cid and Rygdea. And hey, I guess people can drop by and laugh at the hungover and uncomfortable sods if they really want to?
Progress: Ongoing
Summary: The bottom of a bottle of bourbon rarely leads to anything save grief.
Location: Lindblum
Date: Right now. (Literally. It's 7am here.)
Warnings: Ryg has a foul mouth. There may or may not be

Comments

[animus_concisus]

Cid's own head wasn't in much better shape. The Brigadier General rarely drank, and when he did, it was rarely recreationally. Having gone through...was it the entire bottle of bourbon, with Rygdea? He wasn't sure, and frankly, did not want to know.

His first thought was that his back hurt like all holy hell. His second was a realization: he was sitting down, half slumped over onto the bed he should have been sleeping in. The third came as a rude awakening when he felt himself get suddenly shifted nearly off of the bed, just in time to hear his subordinate's shriek.

"Will you shut up for once," he groaned, not even bothering to open his eyes. Or think, for that matter. It'd only hurt more.

[cowboy_aloft]

The cowboy jumped violently at the voice practically next to his ear. He didn't know why he was so surprised, a small part of his brain noted, where else would Cid Raines be but in Cid Raines' bed? The question was instead, what was he doing in the aforementioned bed?

Looking over at his boss and friend, he tried to coax his aching brain into scraping together a semblance of coherent thought. Cid wasn't in the bed, which was..promising, but sat in a chair, sort of half-draped across the mattress.

"Uh...so, boss?"

[animus_concisus]

"I'm...tempted to ask why you are in my bed," he grumbled, forcing himself to sit up and wincing at the pain shooting through his back. "But I can assume rather easily why that is as such."

[cowboy_aloft]

"Really?" He rubbed the back of his head, right at the base of his skull, where the throbbing was duller. "Care to let me in on that?"