Monday 13 February 2012

The morning after.

Anabaric rolled off the ledge and promptly fell 6 feet down onto a pile of dirty rags. 
From his vantage point on the floor, he looked up at his bed, the starboard autocannon mount on his rifter. "Interesting" he thought to himself, remembering that he bought a round of drinks in the bar, and that he and Nash had been celebrating, but not why?
More questions occured, why had he fallen asleep against that autocannon, what was this green oily shit on his shirt, and more to the point why the hell was the floor moving?
The hanger swam back into focus, and the tell tale signs of empty bottles of expensive brandy and a few unopened tins of quafe meant that he'd probably been kicked out of the bar again. Must have been a good night at least.

The room was still spinning as he tried to sit up, no wait that was the floor moving again.
"Ghnnng... Get the fuck off me!" How odd Anabaric thought, the floor was now talking.
"GET OFF!!" The floor exploded, and Nashh appeared from under the oily rags, a pistol in one hand, and a strange half empty bottle of luminous green fluid in the other. "Ghnnnnggggaaaagggghhh!"

"Fuck Nash what is that shit?" Pointing at the suspious green contents of the bottle.
Nashh looked at the pistol, then the bottle, shrugged and took a swig.
"Oh fuck! Now I remember it's terrible..." gagging, holding out the bottle.
Anabaric, reached over and and took the offered bottle, sniffed, immediately a violent flashback of vomiting last night occured, and he retched, he held the bottle back to Nashh, who took another swig, and started to stagger back towards the captins quarters.

"Fuck this! I'm going to bed, good job on the Nyx kill last night"
"Ah, thats why we were drinking...." nodding as Nash skillfully avoided the broken bottles on the floor only to crash into a large tool box.

Retching again, Anabaric decided it was probably time to visit the toilet.

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