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oo3. i'm gonna drink myself to death
back; harder and harder to breathe
[ locked to RED Pyro

[Goddammit, why does he keep waking up in unfamiliar beds? With the grace of a wingless bird, he slings his legs over the side of the bed and gets to his feet. His eyes scan the room and find very, very odd things: a candle lit dinner, a mini bar, a giant, red, lush bed...

Oh jesus. That's not who he thinks it is, is it? And in this place of all places? This looks like a, a...

His first instincts throw him at the door, but no matter how he pulls and tugs and smashes into it, it won't budge. And man, is he starting to sweat. What the fuck is he wearing, anyway?

Oh, god. A tux. What the fuck is wrong with this fucking town?]

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Yeah, what a fun pair we are. You and your amazingly bitchy bitch ways and my stumblin' and fuckin' up as usual, whoop de doo. Such fine entertainment, I don't see why they didn't think of this any fuckin' sooner.

[Sort of just wobbles to his feet and goes to hide out by the corner.]

Jesus Christ, ya fucker, yer gonna fall over. [She moves to help him, out of god knows what. Anyone else she'd be happy to see land on their face or ass, but she can't stand watching him.]

Get the fuck away from me.

[He shoots her a tired glare over his shoulder, just daring her to get any closer.]

Fuck, Jesus. Fine, whatever. Serves me right fer tryin' t' help.

[She sits back down on her chair, and finishes her bottle of tequila. Time to open up the brandy now.]

"Help"? You only helped yourself by walking away, god knows what I woulda done to you if you fuckin' touched me.

[He settles on the floor with his back to the wall, comfortable with the new space between them.]

Seriously, what's your deal? Are you just some evil bitch who's determined t'shoot down any sort of advance I make that isn't malicious? 'Cause I could turn th'mean switch right up, I just choose not to. 'Cause, y'know, it's just th'better thing t'do.

Bullshit, you can hardly even stand.

[Just drinkin' more booze. It might actually be starting to affect her now! It was before, actually, just not quite so much. But shh, no one will ever know.]

Isn't malicious. Riiiiiight. 'Cause rape ain't malicious, y'know, totally. Y'know, if you 'ad a sense of humor, and weren't tellin' me off all the fuckin' time, I might ackshally consider it. ' Mean seriously, what's yer problem? I'm my own fuckin' person, 'm not a kid. Asshole.

I can so stand. Just don' wanna.

[Smacks his forehead.] Fuck-- jesus fucking christ Red, d'you really think I want t'rape you? In what world does that make any fuckin' sense? Not planning on stickin' anythin' anywhere, jesus fuck. Not 'til, y'know, th'time's right and all that.

Any fuckin' way, I tell you off 'cause you're a sick fuck with a fucked up sense of humor. I figure if y'gotta get me involved by pissin' me off, might as well try t'tell you off. Y'know. Might be able t'get t'you somehow. 'Sides, not like I got anythin' better t'do, really.

Sure ya can. Suuuure.

Jesus. So y'admit yer goin' after me now, eh? That's a bit more like it. Though I can't say I trust ya right now. [Takes another swig at the booze.]

So ya tell me off 'cause yer bored, 'en. Which means y'enjoy hangin' round me. That'r ya want t' get through to me and convert me int' a nice little lady. Fuck that, I ain't bein' a lady. An'way, just go out and say it, stop bein' so... what's it called with the puzzles and the mind games... Cryptic! Stop bein' so cryptic, y'asshole.

Didn't mean til the time was right with you specifically. Just, y'know, at all. If I ever find myself a lady who-- y'know. Fits. 'Cause, uh-- y'know. That'd be nice, I guess.

'Nd I don't need y't'be a lady or nothin'. Just less insane, if that's possible. You're kinda-- y'know. I do, uh, kinda, sorta like t'be around you. Maybe. Just when you're not being a huge bitch. [Bluh bluh bluh.] 'Cause you're kinda funny when you're not fuckin' sick. And stuff. Ah, what am I doin'--

Alright, alright. I know what ya mean. [Sigh.]

Yer funny, Blue. I think I like bein' around you too, even if you do think I'm nuts. Yer fun t' bug, an' yer not acshally a bad guy, y'know? It's fun, bein' with ya. When yer not gettin' on me about anythin' an' everythin', course. But d'you think I c'n be "less insane" 'r whatever?

I dunno. Like, if y'were, y'kinda wouldn't be you, and that wouldn't be as fun. It's just frustratin' sometimes.

[He looks at his knees, slowly easing his bowtie off.] I mean, like-- I dunno. Not worth it t'go and find out or whatever. Just no more things like throwin' around sex jokes 'r anythin' pertainin' t'that. S'uncomfortable. And weird. So don't.

He already yanked off the clip-on tie. How many ties does he have?

Yeah. I know, I c'n be frustratin'. I think I try t' be, acshally. 'R at least bug people, get on their nerves. Eases me up.

Alright, alright. Ya little goody-two-shoes. I like seein' yer face when I do that, though. Mix of confusion and horror, 's perfect! So funny.

LOL oops. Good on you for remembering. But to answer your question, limitless

[He snorts.] Gee, how fuckin' nice of ya. You ever try not doin' that?

I ain't a goody-two-shoes! My parents just kinda, y'know, drilled that into my head when I was younger. They were all Christian like, it was crazy. God don't exist; if he did, don't think I woulda ended up here.

Cool. Infinite ties. And thanks.

Wouldn't wanna. 'S weird, don' wanna explain. Do want more booze, though. [She staggers over to the minibar, this time coming back with two bottles of whisky: rye and malt.]

...okay. So yer a good Christian who don't believe in God. How does that not make ya a goody-two-shoes? That's basically the definition of the word.

I ain't a good Christian. I ain't. Some things jus' stick 'n shit. Y'know, they're parents. They do that t'ya.

[While she's standing, he motions her over.] While we're here spilling our guts, y'might as well come back, promise I won't bite. You already know I ain't in no condition t'do anything like that. 'Sides, you're not gonna drink botha those by yourself, are ya?

I wouldn't know. [She says grumpily.]

[She goes back to the bar for a bottle of bourbon before sitting down beside her BLU counterpart.] 'Course I am. Which one d'ya want? [She motions to the three bottles.]

[Tilts his head at her questioningly.] Really? What happened to 'em?

[He grabs the closest one, which happens to be the malt whiskey.] Sure can hold yer alcohol, huh.

Each other.

Ya don't say. [She opens the rye and starts downing it.] You can't. Well, can't imagine ya've 'ad much, though. Meh.

Oh. Huh. [He plays with his bottle.] Musta sucked. Parents're nice, usually.

No, I really can't. [He laughs and takes a swig.] Like I fuckin' said, I don't fuckin' drink, us'lly. Drinkin' is for people who run. And I can't do it physically here, so this's th'next best thing.

Wouldn't know. [Chugs the rest of the bottle.]

[She chuckles.] Yeah, well. I don't drink to get drunk, usually, I'm just lookin' t' have a good time wit' m' friends, 'r whoever's posin' as 'em. C'n be fun, y'know?

I get that. Sorry.

Guess so. Still, was taught t'have fun without drinkin'. [Gulps down some more, shuddering at the burn.] Funny how that fun lead t'burnin' down things.

'S okay, relax. 'M not gonna hold it against ya 'r anythin'.

Sure, whatever. [Done with that bottle, now onto the next. Getting pretty woozy, she may pass out soon. Maybe.] Just drink. 'N yes, very. Tell m' more 'bout that. 'M sure 's verrry interestin'.

[He gives her a sideways glance as he taps his bottom lip against the mouth of the bottle. He's not sure if she's being sarcastic or not, but he's pretty drunk so he'll pretty much say anything at this point.]

Y'know, when ev'rythin' y'have's taken away from ya, so all y'got is burnin' those bastards t'th'ground t'get payback. And fire gets so fuckin' pretty and warm and crackles pretty fuckin' loud when y'think 'bout it.

[She's leaning on him now, and trying to feed him some of her drink. Whatever's left, that is.]

Yeah. I think a fire'd be pretty good right 'bout now. How 'bout you? But yeah, I get it.

Prob'ly. Y'think anythin' in this fuckin' shithole'd burn, though?

[His surprise from her contact allows her to get the alcohol down his throat.] Jesus, Red, I got my own.

Sorry... [She drinks the dregs and tosses the bottle. Pyro tries to sit up but ends up falling over the other way. She's on the floor now.]

Well, there's th'alcohol, I don' think that's'll be runn'n' out soon, think. Other, there's the bed'n'windows, 's it.


Mmn. [Pyro just makes a gurgling noise.]

Maybe we oughta call't'a night 'r'somethin'.

[Slumps against the wall, sliding a bit.]

Night, Red.

Night, Blue.

[She passes out.]

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