hamsterball | THE MORNING AFTER MEME

Entry tags:

keri what is this

THE MORNING AFTER MEME

Look I'm feeling ambitious and optimistic let's see if we can do the thing.

Rules
1. Post as your character, who should be asleep somewhere with somebody else next to them. Feel free to describe their sleeping habits.
2. Someone else tags you with their character as their bedmate.
3. (OPTIONAL) They don't remember how they got there, and they don't really remember what happened last night.
4. Wake up. Freak out. Rinse. Repeat.
5. Alcohol doesn't have to be involved, and neither does sex. Use your imaginations!
6. There is no such thing as tagging late, so have at!

Standard these-events-have-no-impact-in-game disclaimer applies, go and GET IT GET IT!

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Ambrose dozes. Ambrose has cold feet and snores a bit and sometimes mumbles nonsense. He snuggles and there's a decent chance he consumed alcohol or - if on offer - something else mind altering. He's all about the experience, man or lady or gender-fluid individual, jive with his rhythm. He is also wearing pants unless you'd rather he didn't.

Spike is warm.

That's sort of amazing to him, though right now he's totally sacked out, wound up in sheets next to Glambrose. It seems that he passed out after whatever happened happened as he's not wearing a stitch. There is a very nice hipbone visible and most of a chest... a well defined arm...

Lots of paleness going on here. Ambrose awakes to study it drowsily, the tactiley with one finger tracing a bicep up to a shoulder on its way to that neck, possibly to check for a pulse. Or just for the ~~the hell of it~~ science.

There is a pulse. There is breathing.

There is a somewhat tousled head lifting to look at him. The hair is still relatively shellacked into place but obviously there have been things happening as it is somewhat dislodged. A pale blue eye is peeking at him, now visible having emerged from the pillows and sheets.

Mornings are not always kind to Metody. She stirs, murmuring in discontent, and her eyes slowly open.

Metody groans, and sinks away from the light, slipping under the covers and any portions of Ambrose that might be available. Nothing filters sunlight quite as well as someone else's arm.

Especially when someone else is happy to provide shelter. Ambrose shifts obligingly, curling that arm around her and tugging the covers up a little.

"Too bright?"

"Much, much, too bright."

But under the covers it is warm and dark, and Metody knows a good cure for morning headaches. She wraps her arms around him and nuzzles against his side.

Emma's curled up with her back to you. Feel the disinterest and rejection. Feel it now metaphorically, because upon waking she'll probably make you feel it physically.

Madelyne is curled up around a pillow and you, if that's something you'd allowed. She's wearing her nice nightgown, which seems to indicate that there was some planning involved but, then again, sometimes a person likes to feel pretty.

It looks like Spike was at least thinking about leaving before he passed out in bed. He's mostly clothed, though the buttons on his shirt are done up unevenly and his belt is on the floor. The most notable thing, other than that, however is the fact that he seems to have been handcuffed to the headboard.

It looks a bit uncomfortable, though he's right and truly passed out.

The scene here is not all that strange for Selina. The room seems to be festooned with the spoils of a night's work. There are valuables scattered around the room, obviously stolen. Right? The oddest part is that she's still mostly in her Catwoman suit. The boots are off and the zipper's been pulled all the way down....

Maybe she got cold in the middle of the night and put it back on? Only time will tell.

The blanket's are off the bed as if kicked, and a tan trenchcoat is the only covering on top of a certain British bedmate, who doesn't seem to have come into his hangover quite yet. A snort might be the only indicator he's there at all--he's a dead quiet sleeper.

That might change as Isis makes her way across him in order to get to Selina who is starting to show signs of waking. The little black cat wants to do the usual morning things - bonking her head against that of her mistress, putting cold paws in interesting places and, of course, getting fed.

The cat sniffs at the trenchcoat, and then tries to burrow into it in order to get to the strange smell beneath it.

John isn't quite awake, but he still manages a half-slurred "gerroff."

Oh, look! Movement. Isis finds her way beneath the trenchcoat and goes about sniffing and exploring. Really, it is sort of nice and warm and dark under here. Maybe a nap would be good before breakfast? It could be pleasant.

Meanwhile, Selina mutters, "M'not on you."

Obviously, we're dealing with sober morning people here.

There's someone else here. That startles him, and his eyes actually open up.

Only, apparently he's the someone else. Where the hell is he?

"Um...mornin'."

"Nnnnnn," she replied, not really interested, yet, in lifting her head from the bed to look over at him just yet.

The place is nicer than his own, by far, and he's taking a moment just to absorb details. It's decorated well, but even the decorations seems as hollow as the rest of this place. There's something missing, for sure.

The voice from beside him is too grumbled to identify, but it has a feminine quality to it. He thinks of moving the mass of hair, but elects against it for now. The cat pushing against his hand keeps mewing, and he can only assume it wants food. What's the rules on feeding a mysterious hosts' cat?

The bedroom is the only part of her home she herself has painted, and so it is an explosion of color, rich, patterned and vibrant. Turquoise spots swirl over the pale violet walls, and the ceiling is a wonderous sunset through clouds edged in pearls and rhinestone stars. The bed is a sea of midnight dark colors and soft fabrics, cradled in a high arching eggshell.

Metody, too, is adorned; every part of her (or his - both genders are equally comfortable for Metody, in or out of bed) skin is tattooed with beautifully detailed green leaves, even - especially those particular parts. A full eighteen bejeweled body piercings add extra glimmer.

Metody rolls over, nude and completely comfortable with it, and smiles lazily through a froth of sleep-ruffled hair.

"Morning."

There are doubtless questions Metody has always wanted to find the answers to, like...

Do fairies sleep at all?

Do they have body hair?

Do they sparkle in the moonlight?

But most importantly, Metody might first want to know what on earth a member of the fae is doing in his-and-her bed.

More to the point, there is a prodigal elf prince weighing down the mattress on whichever side of the bed Metody hasn't claimed (not that Nuada cares much for the division of mattresses, but for the purpose of logistics). He is stark ~~raving mad~~ naked, covered in an array of different scars as counterpoint to Metody's rather more elaborate adornment. Here and there are mottled marks like fireworks, here and there the whispers of old cuts, here a massive webbing of skin over skin, there a raised bump where some bone or another healed out of place.

There are of course the more recent affairs too, in the form of faded brown burn marks down the side of his neck and shoulder, down his shoulder blades in matted-shiny splotches, down his opposite side, down his legs. There's his left arm, or the distinct lack of it.

In sleep, he seems a different man; removed from the rest of the world and its worries. He seems at peace, for once.

It does not last: when Metody moves, he stirs, and when she speaks, Nuada's vibrant yellow and red eyes flicker open like old fluorescent lighting.

This up close, one can almost see the shutters closing over his face. "Yes?"

"Nnh - "

She didn't expect a particular who, because realistically, it could be anyone. She can't remember last night, and there are very few people she'd turn down. It could be...oh, Johannes, if he'd gotten incredibly drunk, or Jeremy, if they'd had some kind of reconciliation and she was female at the moment (she never knew, first thing in the morning), or...Emma's pretty, and, really, so is everyone. It could even be an Extra.

Nuada does not appear anywhere on the list. It would be like screwing a hurricane.

She had clutched the sheets to herself in that first startled moment, but instinct was enough to keep her from scrambling or running - flee, and a predator will chase. So she simply blinks at him a moment, waking up far faster than she normally does.

"You....are not who I expected to find beside me." Ah, there's her body, checking in. Everything in the world hurts, she's hungry and nauseous, and she probably is maybe female, but she's not going to reach down and verify that right now. "Why are you in my bed?"

John wakes up, for possibly the first time in a very long time, without a hangover. He didn't drink at all the night before--though he still can't remember what happened. Normally, this would worry him, but he can't seem to care right now. The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and it's all so ruddy horrible that he wants to do nothing but crawl back into bed until it's proper dark again.

Wait. What's that?

Jimmy doesn't sleep easily or well, generally. But today he's out cold on the other half of the bed. And... not wearing a whole lot of anything, judging by how that sheet sits.

He's thin bordering on skinny, with his back to John, side rising and falling as he breathes.

And his back is oddly cold. John has a moment where he thinks it's strange--there's someone else in the bed--but he mutters something about an epiphany and drapes his arm across, still sleeping.

Jimmy makes a few vaguely sleepy sounds before inching backwards and snuggling up against the body behind him. If he was more awake, sure, it might be something to worry about, since he's pretty sure he went to bed by himself the night before.

But for now, he has a warm, and inches backwards to spoon up with John, adjusting the hand a little higher on his chest.

The lack of breasts doesn't seem to startle John awake, but then, it's hardly his first time with a man. They're not his first choice, but they're still on the menu.

John's grip gets a little tighter as he starts to stir, though not enough to wake up. He snores once as he adjusts, his head practically touching his guest.

Jimmy should be worried about this, should be worried about being naked in bed with someone else. But this is the best he's slept in weeks, so hell with it.

John is warm, and the bed is comfortable, and that's good enough for right now. So he mutters a little at John snoring, and drifts back off to sleep.

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THE MORNING AFTER MEME

Glambrose

Glambrose

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Emmmmma

Madelyne

Spike

Selina

Re: Selina

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(... I feel bad that I don't want to wake them up.)