Who: Georgie and Pam When: Early morning, between 9 and 9:20am give or take Where: Second floor, not too far from her room
This was neither the first nor, she suspected, the last time Georgie woke up terribly groggy like someone had thrown a brick at her head and her head had thrown it back, and that went on in a loop for around an hour. Par for the course, so it went, so on and so forth. Shaking away the grogginess wasn't hard, therefore, nor did it take long. She didn't recognize the room she was in, but that was hardly surprising; it wasn't a regular occurrence but it had happened before. What didn't usually happen was a fucking needle sticking out of her hand attached to a fucking bag of liquid.
"Oh my giddy fuck what the-" This wasn't a hospital, obviously. Not even your most luxurious hospitals had fuchsia stuff and crystal chandeliers for fuck's sake. She stared at her hand for a good three minutes, trying to remember the day before, but it was a bit of a blur. No surprises there, except she'd been going to work, not a party. The question 'how does one blackout at work' popped into her mind, but then Georgie remembered that, in her case, pretty fucking often. It was fine. It was going to be fine. She'd just- "Ah! Fuck my ancestors with a jagged dick!"
Georgie had never been too gentle with her hands except on very rare occasions where they were caressing another girl's whatever; ripping this needle had been no exception and now she was bleeding a little bit from a tiny hole in her hand. Could have been worse. Rolling out of bed and onto her feet, she stumbled against the side of it as she looked herself over. What's all this? There was a bracelet in her arm, and she was in a hospital gown. More and more, despite the amazing decor, all signs pointed to hospital. There was only one type of place that could look a little more personal than a hospital but still be one - rehab. "Who the fuck's put me in rehab?! I don't go to rehab, Georgie Snow doesn't need rehab and unlike Winehouse I bloody mean it."
There was absolutely no one who would put her in rehab, she was sure of it. Narrowing her eyes, as her vision blurred a little, Georgie tried to read what the bracelet said. "Subject? Subject to fucking what?!" Georgie looked around herself and her eyes hit the camera. And then the box. And then, the window with a message painted in red. "Oooooh- wot."
She read over the message on the window while rummaging through the contents of the box, which happened to be her clothes. Georgie was at least thankful for this, and as she got dressed she started to believe this was some kind of elaborate prank from one of her bandmates, because they were dickheads and they would. At least Cockney Joe might. And let's face it, Menace hadn't been all there for a while.
"Alright, check computer, open the door." she repeated, strapping on her suspenders. She plopped onto the bed to put her boots on. She made her way to the computer, started typing some nonsense up. "I'm gonna fucking murder you Cock Joe."
The door opened a few seconds after she hit 'Post', and Georgie made for it. She looked around before exiting the room, leaving the door wide open. She still didn't recognize anything, but it was pouring outside, which she was pretty sure had been happening the evening before as well.
"All right dick jerkies, ha ha fucking hilarious whose place is this? It's well hi-tech ain't it?."