She was almost startled as Rocket's chair slid into view, spinning around to put Rocket right in front of her. She rubbed at her forehead, as if that would help with the headache situation in progress.
At least she wasn't the only one who looked like a greasy mess. Although Rocket had a bit more of an excuse. What with the whole… being a mechanic. And all.
"Y're a fuckin' saint," she said heatedly, pleased and grateful for her willingness to let Kreska make herself at home. Even after she'd already stolen the bed and probably irritated the shit out of her. "M'fine," she said with a wave of her hand, forgetting about her vague attempt at modesty. "Hungover, obvie, but that's no big. Fuckin'… think I had Krotazi wine. Shit'll fuck y'up."
Specifically it would actually kill most human beings. Same, difference.
"Sorry 'bout…" Kreska gestured vaguely in the air. "Stuff." She wasn't actually sure what all she had done. She didn't think it had been that bad. "Made some mad cash, tho, so I can pay ya back'f ya want. For lettin' me hang out'r whatevs. An' I prolly owe ya, I think." This was not a relationship where she had to keep careful track, unlike many of the others she had.
Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.
Which probably would have been bad enough.
But she also stopped halfway through pulling off her shirt to rub her hair with it like a towel, trying to get all the oil out as long as she was going to have to wash it anyway.
When she pulled her shirt completely over her head – which was actually slightly more modest, wrapped around her arms in front of her – her hair was at Maximum Fluff. "'m prolly gonna need a shirt, too," she said, a little dazed and lightheaded from shaking her head with a headache. "Sorry 'gain." She tossed her shirt unceremoniously on top of the jacket she had abandoned on the way to the ladder the night before. "I'mma take care o' that," she said, gesturing towards it, "after'm done wi'th'other… stuff." Specifically she didn't want to try to do laundry with a headache, but that was entirely too many words for how articulate she was feeling. Which was not very.
With another yawn, she stretched out her arms and turned to make her way to Rocket's bathroom.
At least she wasn't the only one who looked like a greasy mess. Although Rocket had a bit more of an excuse. What with the whole… being a mechanic. And all.
"Y're a fuckin' saint," she said heatedly, pleased and grateful for her willingness to let Kreska make herself at home. Even after she'd already stolen the bed and probably irritated the shit out of her. "M'fine," she said with a wave of her hand, forgetting about her vague attempt at modesty. "Hungover, obvie, but that's no big. Fuckin'… think I had Krotazi wine. Shit'll fuck y'up."
Specifically it would actually kill most human beings. Same, difference.
"Sorry 'bout…" Kreska gestured vaguely in the air. "Stuff." She wasn't actually sure what all she had done. She didn't think it had been that bad. "Made some mad cash, tho, so I can pay ya back'f ya want. For lettin' me hang out'r whatevs. An' I prolly owe ya, I think." This was not a relationship where she had to keep careful track, unlike many of the others she had.
Without warning, she grabbed the hem of her shirt and pulled it up over her head.
Which probably would have been bad enough.
But she also stopped halfway through pulling off her shirt to rub her hair with it like a towel, trying to get all the oil out as long as she was going to have to wash it anyway.
When she pulled her shirt completely over her head – which was actually slightly more modest, wrapped around her arms in front of her – her hair was at Maximum Fluff. "'m prolly gonna need a shirt, too," she said, a little dazed and lightheaded from shaking her head with a headache. "Sorry 'gain." She tossed her shirt unceremoniously on top of the jacket she had abandoned on the way to the ladder the night before. "I'mma take care o' that," she said, gesturing towards it, "after'm done wi'th'other… stuff." Specifically she didn't want to try to do laundry with a headache, but that was entirely too many words for how articulate she was feeling. Which was not very.
With another yawn, she stretched out her arms and turned to make her way to Rocket's bathroom.
The following 2 users Like Tindome's post: Blade, danixiewrites
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The Thorn [Closed] - by tindome - 08-21-2015, 06:33 PM
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RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by Tindome - 03-16-2016, 01:45 PM
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RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by Tindome - 03-13-2017, 06:31 AM
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by megs - 10-19-2019, 09:31 AM
RE: The Thorn [Closed] - by Tindome - 10-19-2019, 01:31 PM