fandomtownies | Caritas, Monday

Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin.
Could have been three or four six-packs,
I don't know, but look at the mess I'm in,
My head is like a football, I think I'm gonna die,
Tell me, me oh me oh my,
Wasn't that a party?

Someone took a grapefruit and wore it like a hat,
I saw someone under my kitchen table, talking to my old tom cat,
They were talking about hockey and the cat was talkin' back,
Along about then everything went black,
But wasn't that a party?
I'm sure it's just my memory playin' tricks on me,
But I think I saw my buddy cuttin' down my neighbour's tree,

Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin.
Could have been three or four six-packs,
I don't know, but look at the mess I'm in,
My head is like a football, I think I'm gonna die,
Tell me, me oh me oh my,
Wasn't that a party?

Old Billy Joe and Tommy, well they went a little far,
They were sitting in my backyard blowing on the siren in somebody's police car.
So you see, your honour,
It was all in fun,
That little bitty track meet down on main street,
Was just to see if the cops could run,
Well, they run us in to see you,
In an alcoholic haze,
I can sure use those thirty days to recover from the party.

Could have been the whiskey, might have been the gin.
Could have been three or four six-packs,
I don't know, but look at the mess I'm in,
My head is like a football, I think I'm gonna die,
Tell me, me oh me oh my,
Wasn't that a party?

Know another thing Kennedy had missed about Fandom? The bar that didn't card. Sure, she had good fake ID, but it wasn't the same.

Besides, she... uh... had totally been emo-poledancing in here a couple of nights ago, and what the hell had that been all about? Nothing she couldn't face down, right?

"Can I get a tequila sunrise?"

This was probably a bad idea, but she trusted her judgment more now than she had over the weekend. What the hell.

"Coming right up," Jake said, thanking the Jesus god again that he was no longer a walking (...well, barrel-rolling) stereotype. Handing over the drink, he grinned the grin of the knowing. "Tryin' to forget the weekend?"

"Not so much," Kennedy admitted, although there was a bit of a knowing glint in her eyes in response as she slid over a hundred dollar bill. "Mostly just trying not to think about it. You?"

"It wasn't one of my better ones," Jake admitted, only somewhat reluctantly. "Though at least I managed to make it through without dying."

Kennedy snorted and toasted him with her drink. "Here's to that, at least. Except apparently the weird-ass person I was smoked, and ew. So nasty. I feel like I should go comb my lungs out."

"Ye poor thing," Jake winced in sympathy. Cigarettes were disgusting. "Maybe a stronger drink is in order," he noted around his own glass of rum.

Because apparently killing your liver was better than killing your lungs, in the scheme of things.

Well, yeah. At least you didn't reek like--

Wait.

Never mind.

"Nah, I'm good, just keep these coming," Kennedy told him. "God, that smell's never gonna get out of my clothes. Kinda hurts the not-thinking-about-it."

"More rum for me," Jake shrugged, pouring himself another glass. "And dousing yourself in perfume or aftershave is a terrible idea and never actually works."

...Not that he'd ever tried to trick his dad that way during his smoking phase as a teenager or anything..

"...I was not actually planning on making a habit out of it," Kennedy assured him. "Worlds of ew."

Caritas, Monday

Stage!

Bar!

Lounge!

Back Room!

OOC!

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