Drunk
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I'm not making any money with it .
Captain Tsubasa © Yoichi Takahashi
Raiting: +14
Warnings: abuse if alcohol
A.N.: Gothhippy knows why ;p
Misaki would have never believed that these three would get along so nicely before this very evening- and he would have never thought that they would do something like that.
It all started out innocently enough. Pierre had invited them over to a small garden party, or what he thought was a small garden party (there were around 250 people ).
So, he had put on his best and most representable clothes and forced Tsubasa and Morisaki, who were staying with him (why is a different story) to do the same.
Naturally, with Tsubasa it had been a little bit difficult to find anything among his clothes that had nothing to do with football, but after a two hour search and a loaned shirt, they were ready.
Pierre had been a little bit surprised , when he had seen Tsubasa in normal clothes, but hadn't said anything, only he shot a concerned look in his direction.
He could understand Pierre's concerns perfectly; Tsubasa sure didn't know how to behave at parties where non-football players were attending.
This little exchange of glances between them, was enough time for Morisaki to get away and for Napoleon to slip away from Pierre's watchful eyes.
They tried to find them, after they noticed their disappearances, but they couldn't find them, no matter how hard they searched.
Not that he was really worried that Morisaki would do anything stupid. After all this was sweet, innocent little Morisaki they were speaking of.
But this was where he had made a mistake. And a big one at that.
He hadn't known that Morisaki could speak fluid French or that Napoleon, Morisaki and Schneider were good friends. And even if he had, he would have thought Karl to be the adult one and Morisaki too innocent to do this.
But he was proven wrong. Terribly wrong.
He hadn't noticed that something was off, until suddenly Tsubasa started dancing on table, singing old Japanese folk songs and stripping to it.
With big eyes, he had looked at him, trying to understand what he was seeing, when he heard suppressed laughers behind him.
Turning his head slowly, his heart stopped for a second, when he saw who was laughing.
Luis Napoleon, Karl-Heinz Schneider and Youzo Morisaki, vodka bottle in hand.
He paled and wanted to curl up in a corner crying- or if that didn't work, he wanted his mind to explode, so that he would not be able to understand what he was seeing.
But it didn't end with that. No, that would gave been too easy.
As to make matters worse, the three culprits walked up to the table, video camera in hand firing Tsubasa on in his striptease.
He could only whimper and pray that this would be over soon.
Later, he had to get Tsubasa out of a self-made tunic (aka the table-cloth), to stop him from climbing up a bookshelf and from trying to pat a bad-tempered dog who was snapping at his hand.
And when he finally, finally fell onto his bed, a snoring Tsubasa besides him, he hadn't thought about the next morning in which Tsubasa would have a massive hang-over and Morisaki would just slam every door shut and being as loud as he could.
-THE END-
