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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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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.

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