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21 // action // forgetting whole days is my favourite thing!
[ In the library is a big ol' pile of books. Several of the books have forks and spoons lodged between their pages, as though the cutlery has been flung at them at high speed. But it isn't any big ol' pile of books: no, this is a book-and-blanket fort, lovingly built to withstand even the most vicious of onslaught.
Inside, Alex is just waking up.
He notices his pounding head and horribly dry mouth, and makes a long noise of discomfort.
He notices the fact that he's not lying on his couch, but on something hard and uneven, and makes a slightly shorter noise of confusion.
He realises that he doesn't know what he's lying on, then cracks his eyes open until his sluggish brain adds helpfully that he doesn't know where he is, and he makes a considerably shorter noise of panic and sits abruptly upright, jostling the sleeping man beside him (plus the rather large and now rather disgruntled spider which had made a very comfortable web between his arm and chest). He doesn't think about that part, though; it turns out that sitting up so quickly was a bad idea, and now he's knocking books and blankets out of the way so that he can lurch outside the fort on his hands and knees and puke. ]
Inside, Alex is just waking up.
He notices his pounding head and horribly dry mouth, and makes a long noise of discomfort.
He notices the fact that he's not lying on his couch, but on something hard and uneven, and makes a slightly shorter noise of confusion.
He realises that he doesn't know what he's lying on, then cracks his eyes open until his sluggish brain adds helpfully that he doesn't know where he is, and he makes a considerably shorter noise of panic and sits abruptly upright, jostling the sleeping man beside him (plus the rather large and now rather disgruntled spider which had made a very comfortable web between his arm and chest). He doesn't think about that part, though; it turns out that sitting up so quickly was a bad idea, and now he's knocking books and blankets out of the way so that he can lurch outside the fort on his hands and knees and puke. ]
[action]
[ Philip frowns. With the spiders gone he was just about to drift off into a blissful world of near-catatonic detachment, but Clarence's voice jerks him back into reality. ]
I thought you drowned, you fucking bastard.
[ And by reality we mean the knowledge that Clarence wasn't amongst the brain cells that were killed in last night's binge drinking. The reality according to which Philip just said that out loud with somebody listening? It'll take a moment to catch up. ]
[action]
What?
[action]
...and in which he just spat a nonsensical curse at the person next to him. The language alone is not something that normally makes it past his thoughts->words filter, but swears are probably the least of his problems with the content of that sentence still hanging in the air. ]
Ah, nothing.
[ He pulls himself into a sitting position. ]
Nothing, really. I'm-
I'm sorry, I guess I was still a little out of why am I wearing a dress?
[action]
[ Alex doesn't even try to sound like he believes it. Although he is cautiously relieved that Philip isn't accusing him of being someone else or freaking out and getting violent. ]
[action]
Was there... a party or something?
[ Philip drinks, absolutely, but only in moderation. Judging by the empty bottles of Jack Daniel's, 'Moderation' must be the name of their fort. ]
[action]
Event, probably.
[ Maybe Phil has heard about events? ]
[action]
Let's enjoy lucid for now though, because that party did actually have its effect on Clarence and he finds it difficult to make his message heard through Phil's (and arguably his own) throbbing headache. ]
Eventevents, they... happen periodically, last for a few days and...
[ He spent part of his first days learning Ivanova's information pamphlet by heart and is now reciting the results. ]
...and they are based on memories, can be silly or dangerous. Or both, I suppose.
[ Another glare at his dress and the bits of webbing still attached to it. A low groan too, because using his head made him remember just how much it actually hurt. ]
. . . .
Is that why you-- [ He points his finger at his own hair. ]
[action]
Wait, what's he asking now...? ]
Why I...?
[ He puts his hand on his head, and finds a buzzcut - what. Quests further and finds some kind of stiff, upright - is that a fucking mohawk? He looks horrified for a moment, then closes his eyes. ]
Oh. For fuck's. Sake, [ he says, in the tone of someone who has enough on his mind without
KUUUUURTthe universe throwing this at him too, tyvm. ][action]
The moment doesn't last long, not for Philip anyway, because he has gradually started to realise that the sinking feeling in his stomach isn't so much emotional discomfort as it is whatever party foods he had trying to escape to the surface. ]
I'm just... going to get some air.
[ He doesn't wait for a reaction and leaves the fort on his knees, the dress adding an extra layer of awkwardness to his movements.
Outside he finally gets up, stretches, takes a deep breath and-- freezes at the scenery around him. ]