dollpocalypse | Room 307, Friday Morning

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Room 307, Friday Morning

Topher, ladies and gentlemen, was not having a great morning.

His morning (or afternoon, really) started out with a loud groan of protest against just about everything. Then, before his eyes could even open but just as the events of last night started to come back to him, he shrieked.

And then his ankle throbbed and he shrieked again.

Ohhhh, god. Oh god oh god oh god. Today was THE WORST EVER. He thought about getting up and taking something to get rid of that horrible headache of his, not to mention the severe ankle pain, but... didn't. He just rolled over onto his stomach and whimpered quietly into the pillow.

[[Post is as open as open can be! Door is closed but unlocked.]]

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"Don't worry, Topher. I'll make sure the right parties will be held responsible."

Which meant she'd throw him under the bus if Peter was *really* pissed, but might not if she was feeling generous. "I won't let you die."

There were always escape and rescue plans!

"'Cause you liiiiiike me?"

Wait. That reminded him of something.

"...did I say I loved Tony?"

Love, Topher. Present tense.

"Yes! And that he was bad at sex," Kenzi said helpfully. "But that didn't make it on the Radio."

Like? Yes? Sort of? The way you like someone who was essentially harmless and funny, even if they could be massively irritating. After all, that was one of Kenzi's things, being irritating.

"Good." But no denial!

Topher leaned back against his headboard, sipping the horrible smoothie all the while.

"...who else did I call?" Not that he'd be sending out apologies or anything.

"Peter, Tony... Ben?" Yes, that was right. "You told him he smelled like laundry. Which, I hate to break it to you, Topher, but most people like the smell of fresh-from-the-dryer clothes. And..." Oh yeeeah. "Irish Guy? Nate?"

Really, she should've stopped him. "I was pretty buzzed. Maybe I'm remembering wrong."

"My clothes get dry-cleaned," Topher offered. Like he could possibly handle doing that himself.

On that last name, he moaned and buried his head in his hands. "I called Irish Guy? Noooooo!"

"Of course you do." It was stuff like that that allowed her to torture him with impunity, even if she did like him. "...and yes, yes you did. Only you said you should be friends! Not kissing!" See, wasn't that so much better?

Kenzi was a mean, mean torturer. Very mean.

"I don't want to be his friend!" Topher wailed. "He talks about sex! He was looking for -- you know -- " He lowered his voice. "Adult films on the TV!"

Yeah, he wasn't going back up to the fourth floor anytime soon.

Kenzi chortled and pushed the hangover remedy again. "Seriously? Ha! That takes some guts." Heee. "What was it he 'showed you', anyway?" Out of consideration for his sensibilities, Kenzi did not get more explicit than: "His thing?"

Ugh. Another reluctant sip, then gagging. Gross.

"He didn't show me anything," Topher said, tilting his head. "We just, you know." He waved a hand awkwardly. "At Tony's wedding."

Kissed. But oops, that would probably sound like he meant sex.

"Action under the dessert table?" That sounded like a weird euphemism even to Kenzi, but she ignored that. "Because Tony and I were mean, yeah, I remember that. So now you want to be friends. Or not."

Then she poked Topher. "You vomited on me. Do you remember me telling you you were going to get hit?"

Topher let out a completely undignified squeaking noise and hid under the blankets like a three-year-old.

He didn't want to get hit.

Oh that was just sad. Sad, Topher. Sad.

"Okay. You're learning to duck. Since you learned that so well, we'll consider it that I hit you without hitting you." Kenzi unfolded to get to her feet, then poked him again. "Dry cleaning bill. For my clothes. You're paying it, dude."

Topher resurfaced. Tentatively! When he saw that she didn't appear to want to kill him, he just kept the blanket pulled up to his chest and leaned back against the headboard.

"'Kay," he said agreeably. That was a first.

Then he peered up at her, looking surprisingly young and innocent. "Does the tattoo look okay?"

Kenzi twitched the cover off his leg, and lifted up the ankle to peel off the bandage a little. Then she grinned.

"Actually, dude? It looks pretty damn cool." She pointed at him. "Badass Klingon, or badass starship."

Head-tilt.

"Huh?"

"Do you even remember what it is?" Kenzi asked, curious.

"~~Possibly meta for~~ NCC-1701," Topher answered promptly.

YEAH. Like he'd forget something so obviously critical to his life.

"It's ~~possibly meta for~~ the Enterprise," he explained.

"So there you go. You're a starship. Who was tough like a ~~meta for~~ Klingon." She grinned and put his ankle back down and patted his foot. "...shower, dude. Seriously."

Spray you in the face, Topher! With a squirt bottle. Just to get you up!

"Too tiiiiiiiiiired. Might drown."

No, Kenzi, that was not an invitation.

"Gonna sleep more," he decided.

Yes, Topher, do that. Dave was sure to love it ~~if he was around~~.

"If you suffocate in your sleep, it'll be your own fault." Kenzi left the glass of hangover concoction, then squirted the spray bottle at his head again. Like you would at a cat on the curtains. The words don't make me get the hose rose in her mind and were totally rejected. "Whatever. But I reserve the right to get Percy to douse you if you smell up a Common Room."

Not that he'd do it for her. But hey, Topher didn't know that. Kenzi headed for the door and called over her shoulder, "Check your voicemail!"

She was caring like that.

"Percy...?"

Whatever. He was baffled.

"I don't think I have any new messages!" he called after her.

But then checked just in case. Sigh.

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Room 307, Friday Morning

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