I wake up with a banging throb in the back of my skull. Sort of, more or less it feels like my brain attempted to cark itself last night and failed. Quite miserably, might I add.

Well, shite. How off my face was I last night?

Haven't had a hangover in a minute, have we? While I'm certainly no stranger to the hobgoblins thrashing about in my head, they're sure as hell still not my friends. Fuckin' dags, the lot of them. I groan to myself, removing my hand from behind my head to place it against a pounding temple. "Ah, shite, bloody sun couldn't wait a couple'a hours, could it?" Asking no one in particular, I clench my eyes shut, shying my head away from the blindless window. The shoddy beams of God's blasted ego are definitely not something I enjoy waking up to in the mornings.

I shift away from the other occupant, as if to not wake whoever it is, and slowly inch my eyes open. I jolt, actually realizing the fact I'm not alone. "Crikey!" I hiss out, backing myself into the wall the bed protruded from. I press the palm of my hand harder into the side of my head, as I look around. The—hopefully—woman lies in a slump beneath a starry bound blanket, merely two inches from me. I'm certainly not in a house, the living space is barely fit for a single person. Am I in a bodgy caravan? Pondering the thought, I glance at the rack positioned a few feet above back wall and spot my coat. Maybe I can steal away if I'm quiet enough? Wouldn't be the first time I've left a lass by her lonesome.

I place my hand against the wooden frame and slowly pull myself upward, trying not to disturb the covered girl. Shite, I feel like I'm in a bloody Mission Impossible movie. Rolling my eyes, I let loose a low groan. Fighting back the want to lie back down is a lot harder when one's hungover to hell and back. I feel bile building in the back of my throat, but all this does is steel my nerves further. I can chunder all I want later. I finally get my legs around the surprisingly small woman—did I do the naughty with a midget?—and step onto the flooring. Which, of course, creaks incredibly loudly, but does little other than stir the mysterious lass in her slumber. Blast my shoddy luck, I'm playing with fire.

With a step over her, I proceed to the hanger. Stepping over the lass'... cape and hat? Did I sleep with a dero magician? I sigh, tempted to pinch the bridge of my news at the possible fact. That'd be right. Shaking my head, I go to grab my coat down from the short coat rack. Looking down at myself, I'm surprised I'm not in the nuddy, but I've done the deed with my clothes on before. Zipper rash is a helluva problem after those nights.

Still, temperature still feels too hot to replace my coat, so I just toss it over my shoulder. Wonder where I ended up this time? Forks again? Hell do I know. Last I checked, it rains during Spring season. Shouldn't be this bloody hot, should it. Maybe I am just getting sic-the sound of sheets spreading stops my thinking. I glance over my shoulder and see a pair of eyes.

A pair of eyes that are connected to an oddly coloured equine. With a horn.
The blanket wrapped around her falls over her shoulders, her hair—mane?—is mussied up. A rough night for her, too, I'd assume. She yawns and I feel something clench at my heart. Fear? I don't know. Her head tilts as she stares up at me and she smiles, sleepily. "Oh, good afternoon Fost-Foster." She yawns again, mid-sentance, and I repress the want to groan; this all but reassures me that I've not lost my mind.

"Afternoon, love." I state back, clenching and unclenching my fists a couple times. I bloody well fucked a horse. The mates back at the flat are going to knock me senseless.

Seeing whatever look my face seems to be giving off, the mare across from me laughs to herself, shaking her head. "If you are wondering, no. Trixie would never take advantage of a stallion under the influence. In all actuality, she just didn't know where you lived and instead placed you here!" She throws her hooves up, the blanket dropping to the bed itself, showing off her comfortable abode. I avert my eyes from her, albeit fuzzy, nude form.

Nevermind, I guess. Thank God for that—or whoever the hell else directs this bodgy shit-com. I give a single nod, refraining from looking at her. While I may be tasteless, at times anyway, I'm a gentleman at heart. Besides, who am I to know whether or not these damn ponies wear clothes? I'm not taking the bloody chance. "'Course, makes the most sense out of all'a this. Right-o, then," I nod again, raising a hand up to scratch at my chest, to get rid of an itch that isn't there. "Well, as stoked as I am to hear that, I've gotta shoot through and head on home, yeah." From my perephials, I notice her lips fall somewhat, but I do my best to ignore it.

This is why I prefer waking up before the S/O of the night. I hate dealing with that look. "Any chance we're near Seattle?" It's usually at this point, the sheilas tend to get angry, so I'd rather just get it over with.

"Seaddle?" Instead, I'm caught by surprise as her look turns into an inquisitive one. It also doesn't help that I feel as if she'd said that... differently. I can't tell. "You're touring from there, then?" I give another nod, confusion likely evident on my mug. "Ah, Trixie understands now. Luckily for you! She just so happens to be going there, herself! It's a few hundred miles-" I blink. There isn't a Buckley's chance I made it that far, full. No, not at all, "-though, Trixie won't be heading out for a few more days. She still has to restock her provisions and rest her hooves and..."

How fucked was I? Christ.

I raise a hand to stop her, to get her to stop yabbering about, just so I can think. What with this rager going on in my head, I need a little silence here. Pressing my back against the door, I lower to the floor and sit there, gathering my thoughts. "Seattle? A few days?" I ask, finally putting my eyes back on her form. She's dangling her hind legs now, off of the side of her berth. She gives a nod to me.

"Seaddle. A few days." She responds with a happy nod and I feel all the more stonkered. I place my hands over my face, pushing my head into the door as I groan to myself.

"Absolutely... fucking... ace." I murmur, sarcasm dripping behind the tone of my voice. I peer between the spaces of my fingers and she smiles nonetheless. With Seattle being beyond the black stump, I may as well just say it. I'm not making any of this shoddy journey bloody sober. I pull my hands down my face and stare at the lass for a few seconds. She doesn't speak, just gives me that damnable smile of hers. Fuckin' figjam. I shrug off my jacket, letting it hit the floor before reaching a hand into the inside pocket. "Well, Sheila. She'll be apples, I suppose. Long as ye an' I've got a gutful o'piss, reckon that time'll pass quick as hell!" My fingers finally latching on to what I'd aimed for, I pull out a traveller of good ol' BeeVee. Hefting it up, I show it to the odd-coloured mare with a grin.

She tilts her head again, reading the name. "Black Velvet? She makes liquor now?"

And my grin drops.

Author's Note

Just a little filler before I get to the main shit.

i'll go over it again after work tomorrow. for now? i sleep.