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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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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.

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