Your name is DAVE STRIDER, and you FEEL like SHIT.
You open your eyes, moaning painfully loud (And really unironically). You're finding yourself strewn across your bed sheets, as if you were not only too lazy to pull yourself under the covers, but you were fidgeting all night, or morning, or whatever the fuck the time was. Heh, that was kind of funny-the Knight of Time had no clue on whether it was day or night, morning or evening, or even what season it was. That didn't exactly matter anyways. In Houston, there was two weather patterns. You're either going to burn up from the heat outside or fry your ass off even when you were in the confides of your blessed air conditioner.
You strain to just glance around your dark room. After about a minute of trying, you decide it's not all bad, and you should try and sit up, count your loses, find some aspirin, and down a cup of something, anything, to help sooth your dry and sore throat. You look around again, gaining all the courage you need to accomplish this feat, until you saw it. That one small source of light that fucked it all. It blinds you, and sends a throbbing pain from your temple and around the sides of your head. Your pain suggests you did something really fucking stupid. Something involving drinking, you remember. Another wave of pain hits you. Fuck thinking right now, that shit's over-rated anyways. You're about to close your eyes, and try to fall into a hazy grayish-black coma, in which if you felt well, you'd call sleeping, until a sound of a light cackle catches your fuzzy attention.
"I told you so," A familiar voice taunts. The smell of fresh mint hits your nose, and it's surprisingly comforting. You give a light sigh, blinking, finding yourself wide awake. She told you what? You know the person's a she, by the tone and octave of her voice. She told you something important, you think. Yes, important. You have to go back, to whatever time lead up to this moment. Something to do with a game, and maybe a argument? You descend into your thoughts, trying to unravel the weave of bullshit.
You think you were sitting at a table, your Bro's kitchen table, sitting across from a huge bitch, a cerulean-blooded troll, right? A huge spider bitch. Vriska in fact. She was smiling, there was Vodka (the cheap shit) in front of you, in eight shot glasses, with another eight in front of her, all full to the rim. (How in the fuck did your bro have so many shot glasses anyways? Jesus fucking Christ) Oh god, it was a round of 'Hold Eight' (Some shit Serket had made up) and you had challenged her. And then there was the person, arms crossed, lips pursed, red almond shaped glasses framing her face. Terezi Pyrope, you know that now. She was upset about something.
Her words gently echo in the back your mind.
"She'll beat you. You're a lightweight, even for a human. I'm giving it two rounds, then you can go make friends with the ablution trap," She had hissed, giving up on trying to make you see the stupidity in the game.
You wince, remembering what you had said.
"Relax, Pyrope. Even your blind, grey, justified ass could see how ironic, cool, and all around fly this plan is. Wicked shit will go down, the Beat Master will rise up," You had hissed, dismissing all her concern. She sighed, shaking her head and watching intensely, sitting in one of the chairs next to you two. You guess she was now playing your referee, or nurse, after all this-It depended on what happened after two rounds.
After two rounds, you were still standing, sort of. Your vision was completely blurred, red eyes dull and out in the open, after the Teal-blood had taken your shades off saying you couldn't even find the shot glasses. She was right, lightweight and all. Vriska was laughing at you, making you angry. Like, really angry. Not that batshit crazy 'I'm drunk and I'll piss all over you' anger, the 'I'll beat the shit out of you with your own leg' kind of angry. Well, that's insane too isn't it? Whatever, it doesn't really matter anyways. It was a real anger is all you need to know. It took you all your strength not to jump up and punch her in the mouth, or more like all of Pyrope's strength. Until you calmed down, the blind Libra had resolved with sitting on your lap, and forcefully pushing you back against the chair.
You fidgeted for god knows how long, until Serket just got up, and hobbled away, across the living room, successfully knocking into something and giggling at that too, and out the door. You had hissed that direction, throwing in a curt, overexerted, and obnoxious laugh. You kept looking that way until you heard Pyrope bark at you. You had faintly understood the name 'Strider' and something else you were too sauced to really hear. You wanted to speak, just to bitch at her, but you couldn't, because actually, if you did, you would have been sick all over her. With great will, and strength for that matter, you had thrown her off your lap, and raced to the bathroom, trying to beat the spew of vomit just waiting to meet you.
And you did. And then, after a good fifteen minutes of constant heaving, you were praying to the porcelain gods. You know she was standing there, arms crossed, watching you, (Even though she's blind. What a fucking miracle) making sure you were fighting your demons properly, and without passing out in the bowl that has now become a disgusting mess. You could only give the doorway a slight glance before the feeling of nausea had hit you once more, and you were, again, emptying the contents of your stomach, which was, as expected, seventy percent alcohol, and ten percent food. It's not like there were eating breaks put into the challenge. And let me tell you, it hurts a lot worse than it did going down. You gave out a wheezy plea to your friend to help, but you know, as well as she does, that she couldn't do that-You were on your own. Or, you were, until you had passed out onto the tiled floor.
You come back to the present, looking up to the troll. She's got a shit eating grin on her face, crossed with some worry, you can tell. Even without being able to see her face very well, you know she isn't accustomed to you being at that phase in drunkness, nor has she been invited to see the aftermath. (It's only happened twice. Once alone, twice with your ecto-sibling) You shuffle a bit, seeing as your friend is daintily seated at the edge of your bed. You also know, by the feeling of the covers on your back, that you're stripped to your boxers, which hold some printed witty rap jokes. Quite ironic, you think. After a thank you and some moving herself, she ends up with her feet, covered by some bright red socks, just under the covers, knees to her chest. The room's spinning, you know it. You groan, clamping your eyes shut, which have now adjusted to the darkness, making the light even worse. Even though you're suffering, you're still observant, and soon feel the warm body next to you leave.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" You hiss, obviously not wanting to be alone. All you get in response is a light snort. Fuck, she left, but where to? You sigh, contemplating whether you should get up and go look for her. Just as you're starting to move your limbs to get them ready for the journey, someone enters the room. It's her. You give a silent thank you to your new found gods as she slides back into her position next to you. She places something cold, wet, and fabric like on your forehead. A small droplet of water runs down your left temple and into your sandy blonde hair. It feels good, like really good. You shudder, giving a small whimper of thanks to her. She grins, petting your hair, running her fingers through your mussed locks.
After about five minutes of relaxation, you can't stand the silence. You acknowledge the fact that you want to hear her voice again, at least enough so that you can hold onto the melodic tone of it. You decide to spark up a conversation, even if it's just an apologetic gesture.
"Terezi-" You mutter, though she stops you, as if to tell you she knows. But, she doesn't know, not this time. "Just listen. I'm sorry. I should have listened-"
"When you passed out, I half thought you had died on me, 'Beat Master'," She simply states, not looking at you. There's something in her words, that seem like she's more than mocking you, but telling you how close to kicking the bucket you must have seemed.
"Oh, I did. Shit. Yeah, about that-"
"You also could have warned me on how the human body rejects alcohol and substances alike. I didn't know it was so violent. You could have at least prepared me a little bit." There's a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. It then proceeds to knot up, and invite the nausea back.
"I should have, shouldn't I? Jeez, Tez, was it really that bad?"
"Both your brother and I spent an hour cleaning you up. Your round of shots took a liking to the floor when they came back up. After bringing you back here, I took shifts with Mr. Strider to watch over you the first hour or so. He's pretty sure you forgot to breathe a few times." Bro knows? God damnit.
Before you get your turn to banter, she adds, "He's laughing at you right now. It's kind of funny, your relationship with him. If you weren't related, I'm pretty sure you two would hate each other's guts."
"Who says I don't?" You hiss, bringing a hand to your eyes and rubbing them. "Besides, it looks worse than it seems." You think. "I've seen worse, I've felt worse-"
"Dave Strider, lying isn't going to fucking help you. You, yourself, have never been in such a situation of sickness. Rose can even reinforce my statement. Of course, dying in God Tier fashion hurts, but it ends in due time, and then you wake up, fine and dandy. Just like that one time-"
"Yeah, I got it," You cut her off, bringing your hand away from your eyes and placing it on one of her idle ones. You don't want to remember dying in her hands, watching her sob over your mistake. That was a bad day.
For a long time, you're silent, just focusing on your breathing which, as told by Terezi, is shaky as all get out. You just never noticed. Finally, after a long ten minutes stretch, a guilty thought presses at your subconscious, making you grimace. It was asking a question, something that you questioned in the beginning. You open your eyes again, so you can stare up at the Libra. You decide, since she's sitting right next to you, to ask.
"What time is it?" You have to ask, to actually have the guilty question to subside.
"About three in the afternoon. Why?" She says, confused on why you're asking such a question. Striders don't just babble about the time like that. Ignoring her inquiry, you continue.
"And when did we play that shitty drinking game?"
"About one in the morning." Your heart skips a beat. That means-
"Have you gotten any sleep?" And there it was, the question pulling you into submission. She hesitates, sighing slightly. "Don't lie." You add, making sure you get a straight answer.
"No, I haven't. I've been watching over you," She admits, blinking a couple of times. You give a frustrated grunt of disapproval, which makes her shush you right away. "I'll take a nap soon, I promise."
"Liar," You simply state, squinting as if to try and read her thoughts. She laughs lightly, running her hand through your hair once more before taking one fold of the washcloth and pulling it down to cover your eyes. It was her saying to 'shut up and go to sleep' without actually saying it. You sigh, placing your clammy hands onto your midsection, closing your eyes, but not before giving them a roll.
"As long as you get some winks in," You press as she stands up, smoothing out the sheets. Her minty scent is lighter already, which makes you slightly nervous, but you know, as always, she's only a room or two away.
"Fine," She agrees dryly, putting a hand on yours and giving it a light squeeze. You chuckle, nerves now eased. "Sleep well, my knight in shining armour." You smile. This was a joke you two have pulled since you were little kids. Usually she'd tack on some cheesy insult, but she must care not to this time around,
"You too, my all seeing blind chick," You answer lightly, feeling her let go of your hand, and start to walk away. You listen to her leave. Three steps to the left of you, turn right, two steps that way, and then right again, two steps that way, and she's at the doorway. You know she has left because you hear the squeak of the hinges on the door, and the click of the latch. It suddenly feels colder, as if something important left. And she did, but you're left with a warm feeling, and a genuine smile.
Even though there's a nagging sense of remorse that you can't seem to ignore. You fall asleep, only to drop into uncomfortable dreams that lead you to this-
You are DAVE STRIDER and you have majorly FUCKED UP. You now REGRET not listening to TEREZI PYROPE and her WARNINGS about HOLD EIGHT and the HUGE '8ITCH'. You have now made it your MISSION to never let this happen in front of her EVER again. You also owe some big APOLOGIES, but you know they'll never MAKE UP for what you did to the Libra. You also make NOTE to tell JOHN EGBERT to lay off the DRINKING on HIS 22nd birthday. God knows YOU DIDN'T.