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Another Day in Paradise...
WHO: Lt (jg). Nate West (OPEN)
WHEN: Y2002, Dec 1
WHERE: Battlestar Avalon's Brig
He woke up with an angry grunt and a vague groan. His mouth was sticky and tasted as though something small and furry had died inside. Nate considered, for a second, the idea of opening his eyes but at the dull and constant thud of his own brain trying the escape the confines of his skull, he reconsidered. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his memories and shake off the haziness of passing out in a drunken stupor.
He couldn't remember a frakking thing about last night. Well, at least not most of last night. There was whiskey, that's for sure. He had his eye on a few of the foxier lady jocks that night and more than a few of the lady knuckle-draggers seemed to always have engine grease in all the right spots. Still, he didn't remember punching anyone and his jaw didn't hurt. So either he gave real good last night, or something else had gone south. Hell, maybe the CAG just got tired of his mouth.
His head pounded as he tried to recall the events in question and he slowly rose to his feet, clutching the throbbing thing in his head as he stumbled across the cell and leaned against the bars. The marine on duty gave him a mirthless smirk and Nate replied with an equally angry smile.
After a moment, he took his head out of his hands and tried to talk. He had to think long and hard about his words and when they finally came out, they seemed louder than he'd expected.
"Coffee?" he muttered.
The marine just continued to give him a kind of mild neglect. Turning away, Nate collapsed onto the small, thin rack and hoped to the gods that he could just sleep it off. Unfortunately, sleep was kept at bay by his pounding head.
WHEN: Y2002, Dec 1
WHERE: Battlestar Avalon's Brig
He woke up with an angry grunt and a vague groan. His mouth was sticky and tasted as though something small and furry had died inside. Nate considered, for a second, the idea of opening his eyes but at the dull and constant thud of his own brain trying the escape the confines of his skull, he reconsidered. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his memories and shake off the haziness of passing out in a drunken stupor.
He couldn't remember a frakking thing about last night. Well, at least not most of last night. There was whiskey, that's for sure. He had his eye on a few of the foxier lady jocks that night and more than a few of the lady knuckle-draggers seemed to always have engine grease in all the right spots. Still, he didn't remember punching anyone and his jaw didn't hurt. So either he gave real good last night, or something else had gone south. Hell, maybe the CAG just got tired of his mouth.
His head pounded as he tried to recall the events in question and he slowly rose to his feet, clutching the throbbing thing in his head as he stumbled across the cell and leaned against the bars. The marine on duty gave him a mirthless smirk and Nate replied with an equally angry smile.
After a moment, he took his head out of his hands and tried to talk. He had to think long and hard about his words and when they finally came out, they seemed louder than he'd expected.
"Coffee?" he muttered.
The marine just continued to give him a kind of mild neglect. Turning away, Nate collapsed onto the small, thin rack and hoped to the gods that he could just sleep it off. Unfortunately, sleep was kept at bay by his pounding head.