Disclaimer: You knoooow.
Author's Note: RUSSEL APPEARS! YAY! Give that man some love. :D
"Get the fuck up, dimwit. Or the next time I shag someone, it'll be on top of you."
The next thing 2D feels is a Cuban heel digging into his stomach. Not the best remedy after throwing one's guts up, but it's enough to stir him from his slumber.
"I'm not carrying you. Get up," Murdoc repeats himself sternly, his tone brisk and impatient.
With weak fingers, 2D undoes the belt and slides out of the seat and onto the cement of the car-park, though perhaps a bit unsteadily. Already the smell of the nearby garbage dump is reaching 2D's nostrils, causing the singer to choke a little.
Ah, Kong Studios. Home, Satanic Home.
Murdoc notices his compadre's unsteadiness and, rolling his eyes, puts an arm around his shoulder and hoists him up. 2D's warm—surprisingly warm. Murdoc contributes it to his body's immune system kicking into overdrive, or… what-have-you.
"Y'know," 2D mumbles monotonously as he attempts to stumble along with Murdoc, "I had this funny dream. We was in this bed, and we were together, and—"
"Yeah, yeah, that's nice. Now c'mon, idiot. Don't want you falling all over the place. I'll get you to your room, but then that's it, all right? Now don't ever say I didn't ever do you any favors. And if you piss on my grave, I'm coming back from Hell to haunt you for the rest of your bloody life," Murdoc grumbles on, ignoring 2D, and he's not even sure if the other man had heard him at all.
It's not as though they pay attention to one another, and really, it doesn't matter.
He's just talking to distract himself.
The two head into the main building (mainly Murdoc, as at this point he's mostly dragging 2D along with him; has the sod gone and passed out?), littered with thises and thatses and who-knows-what-elses. Really, new things pop up in this place all the time—things that, most of the time, Murdoc is most displeased to find.
He passes by Russel's room, and Russel is hard at work… welding a dead zebra.
The other man notices the two of them, stops his work, and pokes his head out, his ghostly, milky white eyes seemingly prodding the bassist for answers.
"I thought you two were going to have a… oh, what was it you said… a night out?" the drummer questions, his tone mocking.
Murdoc rolls his eyes, hoisting the sagging 2D up a little more.
"Don't rub it in. Little bugger here's sick. Had to come back."
He isn't about to detail his little run-in with Ambermandally, though. That would be a tale he'd keep to himself.
"Well," Russel says, leaning against the doorway with one bloodstained glove while examining the other, "at least you're doing the right thing. At least, you know, you aren't forcing poor D with his problems to stay with you and have sloppy seconds. I'm actually kinda surprised."
"Surprised?" Murdoc intones, but then he quickly decides that he's not about to start an argument. "Whatever, I don't have time for this… shit. I gotta get the little runt to his room. Before he… throws up again, or… something."
"Sure thing," Russel replies with a quick, amused chuckle, and he shuts the door behind him. The welding continues on inside.
Poor zebra.
