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See, this is why he doesn't drink and smoke and take whatever the fuck pills those were at the same time. Because then you wake up in the middle of fuckever-knows-where on some shitty, suspiciously stained couch with no idea how you got there and nothing to ease the stabbing goddamn pain in your pounding goddamn forehead.
He doesn't think he's ever seen this place in his life. It's nowhere he recognizes, anyway. Aside from the couch, it doesn't look half-bad. Shit, there's a pristine-looking couch across the room. What the fuck'd he gone and fallen asleep on this piece of fucking garbage for?
Yeah, well, that's just his luck sometimes. And all the more reason he shouldn't drink and smoke etc. etc. etc. you get the goddamn idea.
He's about to close his eyes again when he realizes he's not alone. Someone's nearby, watching him or staring at not much of anything or who the fuck knows what. Okay, so who the fuck's this chick supposed to be?
"You just gonna fucking stand there, staring at me? Do I look like a picture or some goddamn thing?"
plz don't teach her to take drugs, she's an innocent robot girl. T_T
The place in which Mr. Pink wakes up in is pristine, almost ascetic in it's whiteness and cleanness, the blank spaces in the walls only broken up by plants that grow. The couch nearby is pristine and white, the girl didn't want to ruin it, so she brought the couch Pink was sleeping on to her house. Made sense right?
The girl tilts her head in wonder. "I was waiting on you to wake up." There's a metallic feel to her voice, also no trace of emotion in it.
"Wasn't that sweet of you." Okay, maybe it was considerate of her to let him sleep or someshit, but Mr. Pink doesn't like being watched, and he's not exactly in a mood for giving thanks to strange women.
Strange women with strange voices. No trace of emotions he can deal with; he's heard that kind of thing before. Usually doesn't mean anything good, so he'll have to be on his guard, but it's something he understands. It's the sound of... what is that, is that fucking metal? That's what weirds him out. He figures it's something to do with him being hungover or maybe being fucked up still. Because people don't talk like that, right? And he just isn't feeling great. Not like he's gonna fucking vomit or whatever - not yet - but definitely not great.
"Will you require me to close the shades?" The woman asks, her eyes wide, staring at the man with an expression that could be curiosity if she could show emotion.
She senses several sorts of chemicals within the man still lingering. "Would you like me to purge you of your chemicals?"
"Not unless closing the shades is gonna turn this white fucking room umber or someshit." He's not intending to be barbed; it's just the hangover and waking up in a strange place and, well, his customary mode of being.
He rubs his forehead, appreciating the fleeting relief it brings to his pounding head. Rubs his forehead harder. "Purge me– What the fuck's that mean? You gonna make me hurl? No thanks, lady.
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i should probably just apologize for everyone who tags your kids
He doesn't think he's ever seen this place in his life. It's nowhere he recognizes, anyway. Aside from the couch, it doesn't look half-bad. Shit, there's a pristine-looking couch across the room. What the fuck'd he gone and fallen asleep on this piece of fucking garbage for?
Yeah, well, that's just his luck sometimes. And all the more reason he shouldn't drink and smoke etc. etc. etc. you get the goddamn idea.
He's about to close his eyes again when he realizes he's not alone. Someone's nearby, watching him or staring at not much of anything or who the fuck knows what. Okay, so who the fuck's this chick supposed to be?
"You just gonna fucking stand there, staring at me? Do I look like a picture or some goddamn thing?"
plz don't teach her to take drugs, she's an innocent robot girl. T_T
The girl tilts her head in wonder. "I was waiting on you to wake up." There's a metallic feel to her voice, also no trace of emotion in it.
but it's what he's good attttt
Strange women with strange voices. No trace of emotions he can deal with; he's heard that kind of thing before. Usually doesn't mean anything good, so he'll have to be on his guard, but it's something he understands. It's the sound of... what is that, is that fucking metal? That's what weirds him out. He figures it's something to do with him being hungover or maybe being fucked up still. Because people don't talk like that, right? And he just isn't feeling great. Not like he's gonna fucking vomit or whatever - not yet - but definitely not great.
"Jesus it's bright in here."
no subject
She senses several sorts of chemicals within the man still lingering. "Would you like me to purge you of your chemicals?"
no subject
He rubs his forehead, appreciating the fleeting relief it brings to his pounding head. Rubs his forehead harder. "Purge me– What the fuck's that mean? You gonna make me hurl? No thanks, lady.
"How about a glass of water?"
no subject
She draws the curtains without even touching them, only closing her eyes for a moment and the light becomes much more shadowed and somewhat tolerable.
"I'll be retrieving your water..." And she moves out the room, barely a change on her face.