busemox | (no subject)

(no subject)

[In a moment of drunken clarity, Travis considers that maybe, just maybe, giving his home address to another hitman--one who could probably kill him without a second thought if he ever needed to--is probably a really, really terrible idea. Now this guy knows where he lives. If any bad blood ever ran between them? Deadpool could even shoot him out while he was on a can. He'd be a sitting duck.

...Which is the perfect opportunity for him to take another shot! (And spill a third of it down his front. Whoops.)

It isn't as if Travis DOESN'T drink often, either: he just never gets the chance to have decent vodka (that he's promptly ruined by mixing with terrible diet drink mix) with a decent content. He's too used to awful weak beer to have ever built up some kind of... socially acceptable tolerance for actual alcohol.

He might also be giddy that he actually has someone to invite over to watch him make a fool of himself while so deep into his cups. Maybe. Either way, he's pretty proud of himself right now. Travis stares, expectantly, at the front door.

He's going to be the best host ever.]

(after this thread!)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The appearance of the little gray creature surprises him. He didn't know Travis had a cat. He didn't know Travis was even responsible enough to take care of a cat. Wade matches the little one's stare, feeling oddly as if he's being measured in some way.]

Hey there, Cat. Does he do this a lot?

[He (she?) doesn't answer, of course, and Travis rising from the chair is enough to distract Wade from the furry companion for now. He gives Travis a skeptical look as he watches him struggle with his pants.]

Dude, what are you even doing? Is this some kind of pathetic attempt at a striptease? 'Cause believe me, I've seen better. Knock it off before you crack your head open or something. I am not dragging you to the hospital if you get a concussion. They'd probably think I did it.

[Jeane meows (almost matter-of-factly), sits back on her haunches, and spectates as her owner continues to make a fool out of himself. He's a weird guy. She's used to him flailing around like this.

Travis pauses and shoots him another stupid grin.]

Actually, yes. And the cat's a girl. Now shut up and watch me, I got it.

[No, he doesn't. Though he's managed to backtrack and get his shoes off before removing his jeans, he succeeds at tripping on his now-loose pants legs and falling backward onto his ass as soon as they're successfully off.

He swears on impact--shit, that hurts--then... dissolves into laughter. The cat stares at Wade again (this is the shit she has to deal with, Wade; you can't handle him like she can.)

Gotta admire his tenacity, at least.]

Edited 2013-02-04 22:40 (UTC)

[Wade shoots the cat a glance that can only be described as sympathetic-- how do you even deal with him, Jeane-- before he moves to stand over Travis. He has to admit that Travis's drunken laughter is infectious, and he chuckles and shakes his head at the sight of the helpless idiot sitting on the floor with his pants around his ankles.

Even now, pathetic as he is, he still manages to find a way to be somewhat adorable. Wade wonders vaguely if that's a latent superpower not even Travis knows he has.]

Well. Color me impressed, Trav. Are we done?

[He extends a hand to help him up.]

Ha...haha, fuck. Okay, yeah, I'm not gonna try that again.

[The last of the giggles die away. Travis kicks his pants off and leaves them in a pile on the floor before taking Wade's hand and steadily getting to his feet. Once he's up again, he peers up at the other man with a look of extreme scrutiny before announcing, quite decisively:]

How the hell are you so tall. I mean, Jesus. This a superhero thing, or--what. I bet Spider-Man's shorter'n me.

[Just kidding. He's not done thinking the world's hilarious. He chuckles to himself quietly before frowning, seeming to be in deep thought.]

Wasn't sure you were actually gonna come.

[Wade shrugs.]

I dunno. Good genes, I guess. You should've seen me when I was small-- I was a skinny little shrimp back then. The growth spurt didn't exactly take until I was well in sophomore year. Always was a late bloomer, I guess.

[...Ah. Time for drunken introspection, apparently. Wade offers him a grin.]

'Course I was gonna come. D'you honestly think I'd miss the opportunity to watch you make an ass outta yourself? Much better'n sitting home and watching reruns of The Kardashians, I'll tell you that right now.

Besides, somebody had to stick around and make sure you didn't-- I dunno, set fire to your underwear or something. And I get the added bonus of knowin' where you live now. I consider that an even exchange.

[Even if the place does look like every stereotypical college boy's bachelor pad ever. Well-- if you replaced the anime girls with actual real women, anyway.]

Edited 2013-02-04 23:45 (UTC)

...Man, I can't even imagine you in high school. [Why is he laughing so much? Christ.] Shoulda seen me: skinny punk with a chip on my shoulder, always gettin' into fights. Always gave back as good as I got though! [He makes his own punching sound effect and lightly jabs Wade on the arm.]

Fuck bein' a teenager, though.

[Deep down, Travis knows he's going to start rambling. When he starts it doesn't stop, and the words pour from his mouth no matter who's around to listen. Wade's words are mostly going over his head, now that his own thoughts are rushing forward again. It's going to happen again. This was a mistake.]

I had the worst first girlfriend ever. [don't do it don't do it shut up--] She really fucked me up. The bitch.

[Travis suddenly switches gears:]

I wouldn't set myself on fire, dude. I've been on fire before. It sucks.

[Oh god is it confession time already? Wade can't even keep up with Travis right now-- it seems as though he's cycling through all the stages of inebriation in the span of a minute or so. It's kinda making him dizzy.

He's silent for a while, digesting this new information, and even though Travis has clumsily changed the subject he feels he has to say something.]

Sorry, dude. About your girlfriend, I mean. If it makes you feel any better, my love life hasn't been a basket of rainbow kisses, either.

Why? You're not her.

And-- why the hell do people feel like they need to say sorry? Everyone's always giving me this apology bullshit, it's not like it's going to do anything.

[He doesn't want to be this upset still, after all these years.

But here he is.]

And it doesn't make me feel better, because then that just means it was bullshit for you too.

[Watch it, Travis. He's not really liking your tone there.]

Well, whaddya want me to say? I didn't think you'd be getting to this part of the night so early. I know where you're coming from and it sucks and I'm trying to commiserate with you. Or something. You wanna just accept that and try being less of an ass?

[A scoff.] Think I liked you better when you were in giggly stripper mode.

Edited 2013-02-05 00:49 (UTC)

No, because I am an ass. Get used to it.

[He falls back onto his chair again with a huff.]

I wasn't giggling, either.

[The negative effects are starting to set in. His head's pounding; Travis massages his forehead gingerly.]

...fucked up. Told you.

Oh, so we're at this stage again? Careful, dude. I get motion sickness.

Stop it with the self-pity bullshit, okay? It doesn't look good on you. You're not an ass. If you were, you would've just traipsed right on past my body back at that hotel without a second thought. But you stayed. Remember? I have to admit I was a little shocked, because up until then I kinda still thought you had too much of bloated ego to even do something like that.

But I saw that look on your face when you were watching me knit myself back together. If you really were that much of an ass, you wouldn't have stuck around. You wouldn't have cared.

So suck it up and quit dumping this all on yourself, okay? That's what a coward does.

[Not really the most motivational speech he could've performed, but he's not really into ass-patting. If Travis wants to mope around and be a whiny little pussy on his own time, that's his prerogative. But Wade doesn't have to be an audience for it.]

Edited 2013-02-05 01:32 (UTC)

[That stops him short. His mind frantically searches for some proper way to respond--but all there is is more blank anger and emotion he can't figure out how to articulate right, not when he's sober and especially not when he's drunk.

So he lashes back at Wade. Again.]

I'm not a goddamn coward! [he needs to pick whether he wants to sit or stand; he rises suddenly, the quick motion making him dizzy] Stop talking about me like you know what kind of person I--

[Travis freezes.

And promptly makes a mad dash for the bathroom.]

[Wade remains where he's standing, watching Travis take off at a dead run to the bathroom with a look of panic in his eyes. A few minutes later, the very loud sound of someone being violently sick pierces the silence. Wade rolls his eyes, wondering if he should stay here or check on Travis to make sure he's okay.

And then, out of some weird feeling of obligation he can't even understand, Wade finds himself moving in the direction where Travis had gone.]

...Fuck.

[Travis hadn't even offered him a drink the entire time he'd been here. Some host.]

[Well, that was absolutely fucking abysmal.

Thankfully, he seems to be done puking up his insides. Travis has never been one to get sick for very long. Then again, it's also been quite a while since he's drank this much. He can't even remember why anymore, but... it feels like someone's screaming inside his head and the noise is echoing inside his skull and God he just wants to curl up on the bathroom floor and not have to exist right now.

In spite of how awful he feels right now, he's managed to flush the newly evacuated contents of his guts and make his way over to the sink. He hones in on the sound of the running water, focusing on that rather than his turning stomach and... whatever the hell he'd been trying to tell Wade five minutes ago.

...He's not sure if he's currently trying to wash his face or drown himself out of shame.

By the time that Wade walks in, Travis is looking very decidedly disheveled. His face is pale; his hair's gotten wet and refuses to stay up straight, flopping in a defeated sort of way over his forehead whenever he doesn't have a hand on it.]

[Wade reaches the bathroom just as Travis lifts his head from the sink, and the sight of him in the mirror stops Wade in his tracks. It's not just the fact that his hair's down again, which makes him look decidedly more vulnerable and much less douchey than he did before, but the fact that he looks utterly miserable right now.

His face is white as a sheet and pinched, as if he's struggling with a headache or a stomachache-- or both. The sight of him throws whatever anger and irritation Wade might've still had for him completely out the window. He was going to rag on him a little more as a sort of revenge for being so bitchy, but the way the guy looks now-- there'd be no sport in it.

There is a cup resting on the sink beside him, and without a moment's hesitation Wade takes it and fills it up with water from the tap, handing it wordlessly to Travis.]

Here. Wash your mouth out and drink the rest. Gotta rehydrate you or else you're gonna wish you were dead in the morning.

[Too late. He already does kind of wish he was dead, if it means he doesn't have to feel like both his mind and body are rebelling against him. But Travis accepts the cup of water without a word.

It feels almost like a truce, he thinks, rinsing out his mouth and spitting into the sink. He'll take it. He's already half forgotten why he'd been so offended in the first place. As he sips at the cup of water (slowly; he really doesn't want to throw up a second time if he can help it), he casts Wade an apologetic glance.

He must look like such a child. He definitely feels like it.]

[Wade leans casually against the sink, waiting for Travis to finish. He's already forgotten to be angry over whatever it was they were fighting about-- was it even a fight to begin with? It hardly seems to matter anymore, and it looks as though Travis has come to the same conclusion. He seems a lot meeker now, though that may be just because his head's probably pounding like a jackhammer had babies in there.

He catches Travis's glance purely by accident, and a smile softens his eyes before he's aware of it. He knows that look. He's not exactly familiar with it-- it's very rare that people would give him such a look, but he's seen enough movies to know what that downcast gaze means. Travis is sorry. Wade answers as if Travis had vocalized his apology.]

It's okay, Trav. We all get stupid sometimes. At least it didn't degenerate into good old fisticuffs or anything, right? Wouldn't wanna knock over your precious figurine collection.

[There's no venom in that last statement-- it's merely a lighthearted jab at Travis's expense. Just Wade's way of saying hey, we're cool. He hopes Travis is sober enough to pick up on that.]

Heh.

[Oh, humor. He's just remembered how that works again. Travis smiles sheepishly, polishing off the water and wiping his mouth dry with the back of his hand.]

Those shelves are cat proof. [His mouth still feels a bit dry and his voice a bit hoarse.] Which makes 'em nearly indestructible.

[It's been ages since anyone's cared to stick around him when he's an awful drunken mess like this. The realization simultaneously touches him and wounds him even more. He can't possibly be this detached.

His slight grin fades.] I'm... gonna lie down.

[He slowly begins the lengthy trek from the bathroom to his bed.]

Oh. Uh, sure.

[That was an abrupt end to the conversation, though he supposes there's not much more Travis can offer when he's feeling so terrible. After a moment's indecision, he pokes his head out of the bathroom, watching as Travis painstakingly makes his way to what is presumably his bedroom.]

Hey, uh... you gonna be okay?

Edited 2013-02-05 08:51 (UTC)

[Travis responds with all the eloquence and depth of feeling he can muster:]

Mnngh.

[Which is none at all. He gets close, really, but stops short halfway through, leaning on his chair for support. His living room should probably not be spinning like this.

Please help.]

[Okay, this is just pathetic. Dude's got no pants on, he's staggering around, and right now he looks like he's about to pass out right there on the floor. Wade would laugh if he didn't feel so sorry for the guy.

A few strides later and he's caught up to Travis, looping an arm around his waist and slouching down a little so that he can grip Wade's shoulder if he needs to.]

Okay, come on. We're gonna do this together. Point me in the right direction, dude. I've gotcha.

[Travis' weight immediately shifts onto Wade once he can feel someone else supporting him; he exhales slowly, relieved (and still trying to calm himself). At Wade's words, though, he laughs hollowly.]

Not like you're gonna get lost.

[It is, after all, a very small place. There's really only one way for him to go. Travis shuffles forward.]

[The trek is slow going. He's afraid to move faster than a snail's pace in case Travis grows dizzy from the motion. Not to mention he's so much taller than Travis is that he constantly has to stoop down so as not to knock him off his feet. When they finally make it to the bedroom, there's a definite crick in his back.

As they reach the bed, he releases Travis slowly, allowing him to ease down to a sitting position on his own before straightening and arching his back to get the stiffness out.]

You really gotta eat your Wheaties, man.

[The quip goes right past him. He's too occupied with getting some semblance of equilibrium back. Carefully, he lies down on his side. He's silent for a long time, breathing deeply to regain his composure as best as he can.

Until, finally, he speaks.] ...Sorry.

[His voice is very small; the self-loathing stage of drunkenness is hitting him hard, especially now that everything is starting to settle in as his head clears. Some adult. Can't even make it to his own bed by himself. And he doesn't even completely enjoy being drunk, either: you'd think he'd have learned by now that it's never going to help him or make him feel better, but, of course, he keeps coming back.]

I'm a shitty drunk.

[Wade finishes stretching and sits down at the edge of the bed, being careful not to jostle it too much in case Travis's stomach hasn't fully settled yet. He chuckles good-naturedly.]

Ah, I've seen worse. Least you didn't come after me with a scimitar and try to chop my legs off. That happened once, you know.

I can take a little backtalk, don't worry. Hell, I'm in the business of backtalk. No sense dishin' it out if you can't take it, y'know?

no subject

no subject

no subject

i finally get to use the underwear icon god bless

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject