Who: Luther and Joanie What: The Hangover Where: 401 and the bottom of a coffee pot When: Saturday morning Warnings: Extreme crankiness (swearing), headaches, and bonding
Harsh rays of light fell from the windows, spearing Joanie in the face. She groaned, dragging a hand out from beneath her to shield herself from the sun's harsh eye. But it seemed that every time she moved, the crafty little star moved to follow her. Wincing, she clapped both hands over her eyes, ignoring the fact that her left hand was very much asleep for the moment. It was numb and felt puffy for some reason, but she was too focused on staying in the dark to notice.
When she realized that she wasn't about to escape the light, Joanie groaned, dropping both hands to her sides and staring up at the ceiling. The light was painful, magnifying the chaotic pain in her head that had come from drinking too much beer and too little water the night before. Her brain was dehydrated, almost shrink-wrapped inside her skull. She let out a low whine, feeling the pins and needles sensation in her left hand as she cradled it against her chest. "Owwww," she whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut against the light and pain and anguish. Hangovers were God's way of punishing you for having fun.
After a few minutes of laying in (relative) silence, Joanie rolled over on her shoulder, flinching at the pain of putting pressure on her side. "Luther," she whispered, her voice almost loud enough to cause her pain again. "Luther, are you awake?" She supposed if he wasn't, he would be soon. "Luther..." Hopefully he wouldn't punch her as his means of getting re-oriented.