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Mad Sweeney (i_haveahoard) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2011-04-13 19:29:00

Sore [open]
Sweeney was sore.

Not the kind of sore after a grand night on the town or from a cheerful romp No, this was the sort of sore that told him that he hadn't slept in his bed last night. The sort of sore that indicated he was waking up on a park bench that was far too short for his long frame. He came to that conclusion when he realized that he was on his back and that his legs were partially dangling off the plank he was laying upon.

That and the smell of nature as opposed to the stink of the docks, where he tended to wake up when not at home. This time, though, this time he'd apparently passed out in the park. Really, drinking was going to be the death of him.

Especially if the throbbing in his skull was anything to go by. In addition to being able to hear his pulse echoing in his head there was the feeling of cotton in his mouth, a churning in his stomach and the overall sense of not being well.

Mad Sweeney was hung over.

Not a wholly uncommon occurrence, but far from a welcome one. He got them with more frequency since coming to the City, something he was more ready to attribute to his age rather than the City's actual influence in the matter, but that didn't stop his propensity for drinking to excess.

Hand clutching his forhead, he kept his eyes closed and attempted to sit upright, using his other hand to balance himself as he moved into a sitting position. “Fuck me,” he cursed and buried his head in his hands resting his elbows on his knees.