Henry was still sitting there, looking at his bare legs arched above the ground, as little skin as possible touching the dirt. He was vaguely aware of Conor smirking, and he felt like stabbing him in the eyes again. But he actually didn't want to have to like... stand up and go over there and knock the living daylights out of him. So, instead, he concentrated on trying to breathe. He didn't notice Amy until she spoke, and then he nearly jumped out of his skin. Only not quite, because he might have landed with more than just the ball of his foot and his toes on the filthy ground. When she addressed him he turned his head with a flat, slightly venomous look. "Yeah, tell that to the guy who just puked all over my pants over there," he directed his death glare at Conor for a moment. "And I'm not putting them back on, if that's what you mean..." It occurred to him that he ought to get home fast, before the sun came up, but he didn't want to walk across the filthy ground to the university and his car.
Post by conoroverstreet on Jun 2, 2011 1:14:14 GMT -5
Fuck you, man, fuck you. I was just about to explain to Henry that the whole reason we'd just been in our little tussle was that he thought I'd wanted to do just that (and in truth, I had, until I discovered that he was a man, and at that, one of the least sexually attractive men I'd ever met in my life) when the one thing I'd been wishing to happen in the back of my mind since my company's pants had come off actually occurred. We were stumbled upon by some innocent passerby, a shy looking girl in a lace night gown still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. I might have been twice as happy to see her if she'd been a couple years older, and appeared to be a little less innocent. Despite establishing the fact that I wasn't going to mess around with her within the first few seconds of seeing the girl, I still felt that I had full license to have as much fun as I could possibly handle with Henry. "Don't listen to him, miss. I'm terribly sorry for the racket, but he came on to me; It was very alarming." I lower my voice to a whisper so only she can hear, and though I'm still somewhat tipsy myself, I confess "I think he's quite drunk." I speak up again. "Really, sir, why don't you just put your pants back on now? You're scaring the poor thing." I grin widely, pleased with the way the events had turned in my favor. The girl looks as frightened as ever.
Henry wasn't actually looking at Amy's face, his eyes were directed slightly to the left of her feet. At least the idiot hadn't puked on his gloves. The side of his face was swelling up, where he'd been punched in the jaw. The slap hadn't hurt as much, so it wasn't helping even out the damage to his face. The right side of his lip was puffed and bloated like a beached whale, and slightly impaired his speech. He glared at Conor. "Oh sure fibe, that tobally exblains your black eybe," he rolled his eyes, huffing through the side of his mouth. "Not drunk enoubh, I'm afraib," he growled, sincerely wishing that he was, in fact, wasted. Or at least wasted enough that his legs and mouth wouldn't be crawling with insects. He wrapped his arms around his knees, fetal and feral looking, wild-eyed, gaze darting between the two people. He practically hissed when Conor suggested he put his pants back on, shuddering, "N-no, no. No, I cab't do that." Not won't, can't. The mere idea was enough to set his spine crawling.
Post by amysinclaire on Jun 2, 2011 23:22:02 GMT -5
Well, this could have been worse. As with most events in my life, it hadn't turned out to be half as bad as I preconceived it in my mind; I'd been ready to write these two off for a hot and bothered gay couple who'd decided the park would be a nice setting for one of their romantic adventures. Not that there would have been anything wrong with that, but I was still attempting to hold on to my last shreds of innocence, and stumbling upon a scene like that could have easily put an end to that plan. Somehow, I knew not to trust the dark-haired boy that had just puked, judging by the smell of his breath. He had a sarcastic, mischevious way about him, and I felt sorry for the man that he'd obviously punched in the face. Of course, I couldn't tell them these things if I hoped to be Switzerland in this conflict. Are you kidding me? I got this in a fucking bar fight. Then, I got thrown out, and came over here. I'll get your damn pants, you cream puff. The instigator said, snatching up the vomit-stained pants from the ground. "Does anyone need a ride? I don't think either of you are in any condition to drive." I offered. I didn't want to, really, I didn't. I just couldn't stand the thought of letting the men find their way home alone and kill someone or themselves in the process.
Henry's best death glare was still directed at Conor, who he figured would probably still not pass a breathalyzer and was probably far above the legal limit. To be honest, he was kind of envious of this state. When Conor walked over and lifted the pants like it was nothing he shuddered and shrank further onto himself. "Ubbgh, just take them and burn them or sobthing," he said, looking green around the gills himself. The smell was awful, and he wasn't wasted enough to ignore it. When Amy spoke again he looked over at her finally, meeting her eye. "Uhh.. no, you dob't want to dribe me home. But," he looked back down at his bare legs. He never wore shorts, so they were as pale as ivory. "where ib your car? You coulb take me back to Glebncarry so I dob't have to walk." He was weighing the advantages of walking the two blocks back to the colleges versus driving, and had decided that the latter option was less disgusting altogether.