"Fuck your minute," he growls, still feeling sharp throbbing pain where he landed. The rest of the pain is just dull from booze, so, that's a good thing it's done. "Floor's good as a bed."
"Not sleeping down here." She knows it's a bad idea, just not why. Sure, it's the public kitchen, but no one else is - oh. The alcohol had almost made her forget about a certain someone that could walk in. Shit.
"Fuck if I feel like movin' now." Hell he might even roll to his side and try to cuddle on her. Nobody's going to walk into their home, because nobody else lives here, obviously. Unless someone new gets assigned. How many people to a house...?
"Then sleep by yourself," she grumbles as she sits up and oh is that a bad idea. She shuts her eyes tightly and fends off the urge to vomit and only once that's under control does she fumble for her pants.
"Nooooooo," he groans, groping after her and missing. Fine, if she's gonna be that way, he's gonna tuck himself away and...fuck it. He's staying here. "Thank you for being my friend, floor."
"Fine, but you're on your own if he walks in on you." Or the both of them since she's not sure she can really get up, but she's going to give it a valiant effort. The counter will be a great resource for this.
"Then he can fucking deal with--wait, he who?" He blinks blearily up at her, lifting his head just enough to let her know his attention is gotten. "Robocop? He better not break in."
Crap. Had she really said that? Thank god he defaulted to York. "Yeah and you'll have to deal with ot by yourself." She steadies herself on the counter and slings the pants over her shoulder.
"Whatever." She's getting to bed even if she has to crawl up the damn stairs. Slowly, she starts making her way there and uses the counters as a guard rail to help her through the kitchen.
"Jesus Christ, fine. Jus' let me...get up first." It's an event. Getting up off the floor into something more vertical and then crawling up the rest of the way to his feet via nearest upright surface sure is a spectacle.
Y'know what else is a spectacle? Church flopping himself over the sink to dispose of the contents of his stomach. Oh yeah, tequila the other way definitely is not something he needed. He may not be entirely sure that winning this bet was worth it.
"I hate your and I hate your fuckin' tequila and I hate every nerve of my body."
That is something she only just barely avoided doing herself and the smell and sight of it is not helping. She turns away and thinks about everything else she possibly can to stop her body from doing the same. It's a war she's slowly losing, but she'll take it one battle at a time.
"I win." If he had to throw up some of that tequila, then that meant she out drank him. Clearly, that's how this works.
"Nope. This? This is a hard won victory--oh god I can't get the taste out fuck fuck fuck." All of the tapwater. This sink is now his best friend. "You cannot take this victory from me."
He can say what he want and she might be trying to keep the smell from getting to her, but his distress makes her feel like she's winning a lot more than he says.
"I'm going to bed." If she can get there. She's trying, anyway.
Somehow, some way, Tex manages to get upstairs. Church decides to ignore all warnings and crawl up onto the couch to curl up and pass out. This was the worst idea. Whose idea was this? Tex was the one who wanted tequila. He'll blame it on her.
The headache later isn't worth anything, not even an all-access pass to whatever kind of sex of his choosing (when his dick wants to cooperate). Nothing at all is worth that, and he will proceed to be a big whiny, grumbly bay about everything. Everything. This was the best day up until it became bullshit.
She retired their bathroom and proceeded to empty the contents of her stomach there, in private. She almost hadn't made it up the stairs, but she was determined not to heave anywhere someone might stumble upon in and her body held out just long enough. The subsequent passing out is not nearly as comfortable as she imagined, but now she knows that just because tequila tastes good doesn't mean she should down several shots all at once.
The waking up is terrible and everything about her body feels sore. She doesn't know what the hell time it is, but it seems she's sobered up if the amount of pain is an indication. She manages to get her sweat pants on and stumbles down the stairs to go into the kitchen for water. Dehydration is being a bigger bitch than she is right now and she wants to quell it.
That whine from the living room is Church, by the way. "Are you alive? Are you a zombie? I think I'm a zombie and you should come shoot me in the head."
"I left the gun upstairs." Which is really for the best because she could actually do that and anyone making her head pound even more deserves a bullet. She grabs a glass of water and takes a deep breath before heading towards the source of the noise.
"Fuck." He hasn't rolled off the couch yet, but he keeps considering it. He squints at Tex when she approaches--is...that a glass of water for him or is she just going to taunt him and drink it herself?
The latter is definitely the plan. She sips the glass as she watches him and his misery helps to soften hers. At least she's standing despite every fiber of her being complaining about it. "You couldn't do that, remember?"
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Y'know what else is a spectacle? Church flopping himself over the sink to dispose of the contents of his stomach. Oh yeah, tequila the other way definitely is not something he needed. He may not be entirely sure that winning this bet was worth it.
"I hate your and I hate your fuckin' tequila and I hate every nerve of my body."
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"I win." If he had to throw up some of that tequila, then that meant she out drank him. Clearly, that's how this works.
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"I'm going to bed." If she can get there. She's trying, anyway.
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The headache later isn't worth anything, not even an all-access pass to whatever kind of sex of his choosing (when his dick wants to cooperate). Nothing at all is worth that, and he will proceed to be a big whiny, grumbly bay about everything. Everything. This was the best day up until it became bullshit.
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The waking up is terrible and everything about her body feels sore. She doesn't know what the hell time it is, but it seems she's sobered up if the amount of pain is an indication. She manages to get her sweat pants on and stumbles down the stairs to go into the kitchen for water. Dehydration is being a bigger bitch than she is right now and she wants to quell it.
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