fairynuff | Drink up, me hearties

THE DRUNK MEME

1. Drinking Games: You're at that special level of drunkenness where previously unimagined things start to sound like a good idea. You know, like another drink. It's cool, I know this great game that will inevitably end with everyone involved being totally wasted. You play until... shit, what were the rules again?

2. Unsolicited Advice: Oh man, you suddenly know the solutions to all of life's mysteries. All it took to figure it all out was half a pint of whiskey! It's time to tell all your friends how to fix the problems with their personal lives, whether they want you to or not.

3. Drunk Texting: Frankly, you can't IMAGINE why anyone wouldn't want to hear about how drunk you are right now. If only you could remember where the vowels are on this tiny keyboard. Drawing inspiration from TFLN is encouraged.

4. Tell Them How You Really Feel: You lost some of your less important inhibitions three or four drinks ago, and it's time to tell it how it is! Hunt down the person you love, or possibly the person you hate, or even just the person you don't literally just met, and bare your heart to them in a way that you'll almost definitely regret tomorrow morning.

5. Karaoke: Shot through the heart, and you're to blame! You give love... a bad... something...

6. Terrible Ideas: This is going to be so awesome, guys. I've got the skateboard, and I'm handcuffed to Steve... is the camera rolling? And who's lighting the fireworks?

7. Flirting: While all that booze may not have enhanced your charm, it certainly did wonders for your ego! Time to find all the hottest dudes and/or chicks in this place and make them swoon before your gin-powered charisma.

8. On the Streets: What better way to follow up a good bar run than by drunkenly wandering the streets in the middle of the night? There may be loud, embarrassing singing. There may be puking in the gutter. You may be completely lost, and not sure why that police officer is speaking Italian.

9. The Next Day: All that you took with you from last night's adventures was a blur of jumbled, confusing memories, a lampshade with googly eyes drawn on it taped to your head, and a brutal hangover. What exactly happened here? And who's that sleeping next to you?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[God, what fucking time is it? Who even knows.]

Hey.

[He seems hesitant.]

Ya know where the revels room be?

[A long pause.]

...An' can ya come down to 'em and help me find me pants?

What?

No.

[Someone's a bit next-day drunk. Next night drunk. What the hell is going on, anyway.

After a moment, there's the sound of him groaning and bitching as he starts to move.]

Fine. What—why do you—I say this as a friend, Vol'jin. What the fuck?

[He's not in a position to judge, but in fairness that's kind of a universal inquiry.]

[It's okay, he's just as grumbly.]

I need extra eyes, not extra judgement. [HE'S GOT THAT PART COVERED.] Only so long a man can wear a tablecloth an' retain him dignity.

Maybe if you wear it long enough it will begin to look like you're doing it on purpose.

[A laugh that turns into a groan.] Have a heart, mon.

I don't eat solids.

[STOMPING AROUND yeah yeah he's coming; it's not too long before the sound of his approach is duplicated, coming staticky over the locket and also echoing close.]

[This look ~~that can't be seen because it's voice.~~ THAT IS SO NOT WHAT HE MEANT, AND YOU KNOW IT.

Yeah, he's looking under tables. And, like, sleeping bodies. Apparently, these people have to sleep sometime.

And, y'know, when in Rome...]

[He knows the look and he doesn't care.

He shuts off the locket and appears in the doorway, looking like—have you seen The Ring? Yeah. Unseelie parties, man. They're wild.]

Sweet fuck. Place reeks like a dockside whorehouse after a heavy night.

Was it... [staring at those purple velvet curtains, how the hell do those get cleaned, please tell him someone cleans them] ...fun?

[Fuck you, man, don't you make fun of his dick cravat. Scuze you.

Hopefully yes, because he's going to look behind them again.]

The bits I can remember...

[Picking his way through the debris. Oh gods on high and down low, and even the middling, mundane gods, what happened here.]

We have poisoned ourselves for fun, [he declares.] This is revolting.

[TRUDGING ALONG. He unrolls his tongue and then abruptly pulls a face. The air is defiled. Defiled!]

[Most of that was not him, thank you very much. He only contributed a little bit to the defilement.]

Nah. Least drinkin's fun while ya doin' it. Poison? Not fun at any point.

[But now that he's thinking about it, does he feel worse now, or did he feel worse when he was actually poisoned?

Hell, he's not objective enough to decide right now. It's also hard to look behind curtains when the light hurts your brain.]

[That's a slippery slope. The Brucolac, wincing away from light, tries again to get the scent of Vol'jin's erstwhile breeches.

Sure is a sentence.]

Alcohol is a poison, it— [A sleeping, faintly reptilian woman has just rolled over, made a drowsy sound of contentment, and wrapped her hand around the Brucolac's ankle. He carefully disengages her, looking faintly disturbed.]

No. Go back to sleep. The waking world's a catastrophe.

What did you say you'd owe me for this, Vol'jin?

[Because he's being so helpful.]

I didn't. [He drops the edge of the curtain, and his mouth twists into a wry facsimile of a smile. He's open to suggestion.] Supposin' I ought, huh?

[Rubbing at the inner corner of one eye blearily, Vol'jin steps over prone bodies in search of something tan. A couple times he thinks he spots them, but it just turns out to be naked people. This continues for a number of minutes.

That might be them there, though... Picking his way through the people piles, getting closer to one in particular, he's pretty sure he's spotted them. Or their doppelganger.]

What were you thinkin'? Breakfast?

[The Brucolac's casing the other side, sniffing warily.] I think they're... [Waving a hand in the general direction Vol'jin's going.]

Breakfast. Are you offering me one of your conquests? Most of their bloodstreams would be more or less a mixed drink.

Nah. I don't offer others, unless'n they deserve it.

[Yeah, those are definitely his. Now, why their wearer decided to make a shawl of them, he'd never understand. Or how the wine stain got on the knee, but from the way it had dripped, he has a hunch that it happened while this person was wearing them. Over its shoulders.

He pulls them up by one leg, and the antlered body rolls over onto its side--definitely male--oh wait, no, those are tentacles. head tilted, he raises an eyebrow. No telling the gender of this one.]

An' it won't be 'til later. [After he's slept it off. Because wow, yeah, either still somewhat drunk or on the verge of a hangover, he can't quite tell in this state.] When I be more sober.

You? I have no idea what your blood would do to me.

Could be entertaining.

[The Brucolac comes to his side, peering down at the late posessor of Vol'jin's trousers.

Blithely:]

They seem nice.

[Stamp of vampiric approval. Good job, man. The person he's commenting on is still happily fast asleep; the Brucolac suspects it's something to do with the "pre-hangover cure" imps were dishing out liberally last night as the party began to wind down.]

So I'm dinner an' a show.

[Pft, if you think he got with Tentacles here, well

well, he honestly couldn't say. Who knows at this point?

At the very least, he has his pants back. Not putting them ON just yet, but they're in his grasp. Ideally, they'll have to be cleaned.

Is he just going to walk out wearing a tablecloth? The answer is yes. :| ]

Drink up, me hearties

9 for full awful | audio

ahaha :,)

HAHAHAHA <3

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