InsaneJournal

Who: Nike (blindvictory) & Zelus (competitiveedge)
When: Friday, September 2nd
Where: Zel's Pad
What: Guess who's back? (And general drunken stupidness.)


"Fuck."

The obscenity was punctuated with the dull thud of one's head connecting with a locked door. Pulling back to glare blearily at the offending panel of wood, Zel rubbed his forehead and tried to make heads or tails of the situation.

The situation being that he was on the wrong side of his very locked apartment, and he was without his keys.

Or his shirt for that matter.

But he did have his pants. Or so he thought. Nearly bending in half to come eye-level with his legs, he nodded in satisfaction that he indeed did still have his pants. Unfortunately balance was something else he was severely lacking, and the new movement was enough to tip him over to collide once more with his door.

"Shoopid dawr. Shoopid keys," he muttered, using the door and the wall to brace against as he righted himself into a standing position. Still, on the opposite side of the door that he'd like to be.

There was always the option of kicking it in, of course, but somewhere in his well-marinated brain, he remembered the warning from his landlord should there be anymore property damage out of the reasonable wear and tear spectrum.

That surely didn't count for a shattered door.

Irritated, Zel swayed unsteadily as he tried to glare the door into submission. But then the metaphorical light bulb switched on with the memory of the fire escape! Of course! Why on earth hadn't he thought of it sooner?! Gleefully stumbling with all the grace of the blissfully trashed, he maneuvered himself back into the rickety elevator and jabbed enough buttons to eventually find himself on the desired floor, and out the door that wasn't locked -- unlike his bastard of a door.

His mood vastly improved with the reinforcement of his most excellent problem solving skills, Zel peeked over the edge of the roof, squinting to properly analyze and size up the distance between him and the landing of his fire escape.

Because, of course, it was far easier and made much more sense to go down than it was to go up.

It would be dangerous in his current state.

And he was smart, damn it.

He just didn't know where he left his keys, was all. A minor problem. All he had to do was hop off here, pull some awesome monkey shit and grab onto the railing four stories below and swing himself onto his landing.

Piece of cake!

Squinting once more to make sure he had his distances right and to remind himself that he only had one fire escape, not the two that his vision occasionally blurred off into, Zel jumped.

And missed.

By a lot.

And belly flopped onto the closed dumpster that lay in wait some nine stories below in the alley.

Stunned by the fall and completely baffled as to how it was possible that he failed miserably, he didn't move for a number of minutes while he tried to calm the ringing and banging and clamoring echoing around in his head.

This sucked.

Snapping up like a scalded cat, Zel drop-kicked that fucking dumpster (that surely didn't fuckin' count towards his damage quota for the month), and not even bothering to check for spying eyes, unfurled wings that carried him safely, if not unsteadily, to his apartment's window. From there it was easy enough to pry open the window he left cracked, and tumble ass-over-tea kettle into his apartment with some sense of victory.

And it was there, with one leg still hooked over the window sill, shit-faced, battered, shirtless and winged, Zel lay for a moment in relief and celebration -- and promptly passed the fuck out.