THE MORNING AFTER MEME

[cohesions]

REVENGE OF THE MORNING AFTER MEME: THE AWKWARDENING



Last night was great. You drank, you gambled, you ran around naked, you hooked up with a girl/guy or three-- too bad you can't remember it. Waking up in a hotel bed isn't so bad but...
Who is this person next to you?

You know how it is, folks!

1. Post with your character.
2. Tag other people and try and piece the night together or not. Up to you.
3. Anything goes so long as muns are cool with it.
4. ???!
5. Profit!

Comments

[knowsjulesverne]

Nnh, don't. [Not even opening his eyes to see the oddness of this situation. Also incredibly hungover and definitely still pretty much asleep. The only thing on his mind is that someone is moving him and he does not agree with this.

No, it doesn't quite register that there's a someone with their arm underneath his bare torso (and his bare body in general) and that might be a bad thing.]

[a_perfect_end]

[It would help if Sam quit wiggling because that is, uh, awkward and about ten shades of Wrong, and also why...are neither of them. Wearing pants.]

Shh. [Because talking? Dead giveaway, and he doesn't want to get capoeira'd in the face. Awkward backrub with the free hand is a go.] Shhh.

[The cats nestle down with their kittens; the lambs have lain down with the sheep. You are cozy and warm in your bed--please, kid, go the fuck to sleep.]

[knowsjulesverne]

[Sam furrows his eyebrows at that hand on his back, finally starting to put together the fact that there's something Not Right going on. Wait, he doesn't remember going to bed with anyone. Heck, he doesn't remember going to bed, or a few hours after ending up at a bar.

His eyes gingerly open trail down to the arm trapped underneath him.

...are those circuits? Are those gold circuits?]

Huh.

[GOLD CIRCUITS, SAM. GOLD. CIRCUITS.]

NOW WITH ONE MILLION PERCENT MORE CLASSIC TRON REFS.

[a_perfect_end]

[The crucial sectors are kind of fragmented, but he's positive there were drinks--the green ones were a dare and a matter of personal pride. There had been...Goofy crap drawn on cocktail napkins and a game of darts that had gone deeply weird places, and Clu was almost positive he'd screamed something about love being the universal constant, in between dry heaves into a shrub. Sam had fared a bit better, but also proven he knew less than half the words to Ask The Lonely.

But as for how they'd ended up here. That was beyond him.

Sam was awake. He held completely still.]

...This isn't happening.

[Slowly. That was. Really all he had the processing cycles left for. The rest were being allocated to rising panic.]

It only thinks it's happening.

I LOVE THEM THANK YOU.

[knowsjulesverne]

[Hey come on. Half of the lyrics to Ask The Lonely are "You just ask the lonely," so remembering something besides that is essentially the whole song. As Sam hears what's definitely Clu's voice behind him (underneath him?), something very not his blood running cold sparks through his system followed by a distinct neural equivalent of NONONONONONONONO. Shut down all of that. Nope. Nope.gif.

Sam sits up in a hurry, forgetting his headache (only to remember it again once he's fully upright). Gold circuits. Gold circuits. And then he's remembering drunkenly leaning all over Clu, needing to not press so hard on the circuits while just trying to stand upright. ]

This isn't happening. [Echoing Clu's sentiments as he glances about through the haze of his mind for pants. Where did they get left last night? When and how did they come off?]

YOU'RE WELCOME.

[a_perfect_end]

[Yeah, okay. But that's all the great songs of the period.

Sam bolts upright, shaking his head and wincing when he does it.

Yeah, Sam is definitely not wearing. Any pants. But neither is he. So. Question is: where are they, because he figures he's got a few slivers of a micro before disaster strikes.

What were they even--he remembers helping Sam stand, kind of. They both fell over at least twice, once to ataxia and once because--right in the stripes, man; in what world is that fair?]

Yours are...Those are yours, on the back of the chair.

[Programs don't wear boxers.]