06-29-2017, 01:49 PM
You know what's great about being drunk? Even when your body is wrecked worse than a Smart Car getting t-boned by a train and the pain is the only feeling you know... at least it won't be as bad as the hang-over you get in the morning. And right now, me and Sterling are living it up at the little cabana on the beach. It started off a a sullen, stern event as I helped him onto a stool and sat down beside him. But after the first half-dozen shots or so, we both started loosening up. Forgotten were the woes of getting our asses handed to us on the mountain, replace with camaraderie.
“Well, I woulda had them,” I said with a slur, poking Archer in the chest with my wreck of a right hand, the action shooting waves of pain through me. “AH FUCK!”
I'm so drunk I don't even feel the shock. Hell, I didn't even know I could GET drunk, but I guess even Pops ain't perfect.
Gritting my teeth, I continue, “I woulda has em, but YOU jusst had to get in the way, pal!”
With a laugh, Archer slaps me on the back and grins, “Hey! Fuck you! You didn't have shit. If you hadn't been jumping and running all over, we woulda took them out easy as pussy, I mean pie.”
It's hella lucky we aren't chilling on the stool no more (we decided to take a seat on a pretty soggy couch), because we both fall over, wracked with fits of laughter over his slip. Our gaiety (and it's pretty fucking gay, let's be honest) is interrupted as a grey steel box crashes through the roof.
“Huh,” I say as I watch it dangle from the broken ceiling beems via its parachute.
“Neat,” Archer replies in response.
Weren't really expecting THAT, but its appearance brought our harsh reality back to mind. We're still in the game. As much as it'd be nice to spend the next few days in a drunken stupor, and as badly injured as we were, we weren't dead yet. And that meant we could still win. We grab the item from the box and hustle back out into the failing light.
“Well, I woulda had them,” I said with a slur, poking Archer in the chest with my wreck of a right hand, the action shooting waves of pain through me. “AH FUCK!”
I'm so drunk I don't even feel the shock. Hell, I didn't even know I could GET drunk, but I guess even Pops ain't perfect.
Gritting my teeth, I continue, “I woulda has em, but YOU jusst had to get in the way, pal!”
With a laugh, Archer slaps me on the back and grins, “Hey! Fuck you! You didn't have shit. If you hadn't been jumping and running all over, we woulda took them out easy as pussy, I mean pie.”
It's hella lucky we aren't chilling on the stool no more (we decided to take a seat on a pretty soggy couch), because we both fall over, wracked with fits of laughter over his slip. Our gaiety (and it's pretty fucking gay, let's be honest) is interrupted as a grey steel box crashes through the roof.
“Huh,” I say as I watch it dangle from the broken ceiling beems via its parachute.
“Neat,” Archer replies in response.
Weren't really expecting THAT, but its appearance brought our harsh reality back to mind. We're still in the game. As much as it'd be nice to spend the next few days in a drunken stupor, and as badly injured as we were, we weren't dead yet. And that meant we could still win. We grab the item from the box and hustle back out into the failing light.
Quote:Grabbing the Item. Moving from D5 to E11
![[Image: Jacksig.png]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2018/04/13/Jacksig.png)