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oo3. i'm gonna drink myself to death
back; harder and harder to breathe
hotfrombehind
[ 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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"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.

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