“Wow, you’re no fun. Seriously. Weren’t people here supposed to be fun?” he mumbled, pushing his hand through his hair and tugging at it painfully, hoping that the pain would somehow sober him up.
I don’t need water. What are you, my mother? That train of thought made him even more nauseous and he turned, throwing up all over the ground. “Damn it.”
[ And there it was —- the small shred of proof needed to confirm the suspicions of her keen instinct. Unintentional telepathic vibes and communication. ]
---- You'd be surprised how often I get called that on a daily basis.
[ A brow quirks, but she spares no glance towards him. The man’s drunk —- the threat of a runaway is slim to none. Especially when he’s partially covered in his own vomit. How charming. ]
“So judgemental! Maybe you should loosen up! It might dislodge whatever stick you’ve got up your…” he never got to finish his words, nausea hitting him like a train. Oh, come on!
There’s a very thin line between loosening up, and losing your wits and sensibility. I prefer not to toe that line, thanks.
