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Bryn Cadwallader (nowinaminute) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

By the time Bryn heard noises that indicated there was another living person in the vicinity, he had been lying awake in bed for a while, trying to work out how much he could move without triggering a headache. So far, it wasn't much. Keeping his eyes closed, he stretched out his arm, trying to locate his glasses. When he found them, his fingers fumbled over the lenses. Thankfully, he only managed to poke himself in the eye once as he put them on.

Bryn exhaled. Time to get up. With his mouth feeling as though his tongue had grown a fur coat, he lurched out of bed, snagging his jeans from the end of the bed. He tugged them on over his boxers, wondering whether he'd actually drunk so much tequila that he was both drunk and hungover at the same time. His t-shirt and fox patterned sweater were still unaccounted for, but having his jeans was a good start.

He groaned as he emerged from the spare room, squinting and pushing up his glasses. "Your flat's too bright," he complained.