Arran Higgs (silverbroom) wrote in reduxpitch, @ 2016-10-29 08:43:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, character: elise kirke, location: hogsmeade, retired character: arran wood |
Who: Arran Wood and Elise Kirke.
What: The Morning After.
Where: Panquake House, living room.
When: Saturday 29 October, midmorning.
Since scaring himself with his unhealthy post-Roger bender, Arran had been careful around alcohol. He'd cut it out completely for a season, including the World Cup, and even when he'd started to let himself drink again he hadn't done so to excess. Until Quake's Halloween party. Between the mask of Zorro which meant no one knew at a glance who he was and the strength of someone's blood-red Halloween punch, Arran quickly got enjoyably drunk. He'd almost forgotten what it was like, the way everything funny was funnier and everyone was so much nicer and more loveable. Arran had challenged half a dozen pirates to a mock-duel that had taken over the dancefloor and ended with himself on the floor reluctantly handing over his hat (which he later stole back).
After talking and laughing and even - towards the early hours of the morning - dancing in his most loose-limbed and affectionate caper, Arran collapsed onto the nearest couch. He intended only to take his boots off before flooing home, but the couch was so comfortable that he was soon stretched out, one boot half-on, and snoring.
He woke next morning to the smell of coffee, and to a strange pressure on his leg. He kicked out, heard a startled bark and the pattering of feet, then felt his boot fall off. Disregarding all of this as unimportant, he curled his legs closer to his body and snuggled his face into a warm shoulder. His arm, around a slim waist that did not in his somnolent state feel unfamiliar, tightened to bring the body closer.
He went back to sleep like that, stubbornly ignoring the ache of his head and the uncomfortable way his tongue was plastered to the roof of his mouth. He drifted in and out of dreams of a mass of long blonde hair and a familiar voice, until a cramp in his calf woke him more thoroughly. "Fuck," he muttered, trying to reach down to massage the protesting muscle without loosing his hold on the women next to him. It was only then that he remembered he'd been single for over a year and that there shouldn't be a woman next to him. Before he blinked his eyes open he hoped fervently that it was Celia or Charlotte. As far as he could feel, he was fully dressed, which was some relief if it wasn't.
The dark head with its feathered headdress askew didn't bring back any memories, so Arran tried to politely disentangle himself, letting the stranger fall back against the couch cushions as he sat up. Which was when he realised this was no stranger. "Elise?"