A/N: Hey! I'm REALLY trying for quick updates~ I'm on Spring Break until Tuesday, so I'm trying to pump out chapters before school starts back up.
Today's sin is… drumroll… SLOTH! But if you were smart, you figured that one out from the chapter title!
http:/ www . petrilude . com /?p=60
I just realized that I haven't done a disclaimer yet, so here we go: The Mortal Instruments and all the characters, places, people, objects and such belong to the amazing Cassandra Clare. The video links are all property of Josh at Petrilude makeup. Any and all songs belong to their respective artists. I am in no way profiting from this work.
I was extra thorough, because I really only want to write on disclaimer! Anyways… Enjoy!
We've all had days where we just don't give a damn what we look like. It's an equal opportunity disease: I've seen it affect girls and I've seen it affect guys. There are thirty-year-old women trudging through grocery store aisles in their pajamas, and there are six year olds who gallop around town in shirts tie-dyed with various food stains. Alec wakes up to those days every single morning. Even I have fallen victim, and my successes are never quite as spectacular as my failures.
Under ordinary circumstances, I would blanch at the idea of going an entire day without any primping. It would almost be sacrilegious. But these were not ordinary circumstances. I was in the middle of the world's worst hangover (I've had more than my fair share of them, too. Fae liquor leaves you with no memories and a nasty headache.)
Unmoving beneath the canary yellow comforter, I wallowed in my own pain. Any warlock that could cure the pain I was in was welcome to my job and my title. Light was somehow filtering in through the blackout curtains, only worsening the headache splitting my skull in two. I tried cradling my throbbing head in my hands, which were coated in a mysterious, extremely sticky concoction that faintly resembled grenadine. Defiantly didn't help. Deciding that sleeping it off would be fastest, I succumbed. _
When I was able to get out of bed without puking, it was one-thirty and I was starving. A inight of straight alcohol and a morning of vomiting it out will do that to a person. I didn't have the energy to scour the apartment for any leftover food- or my cat, for that matter- so I summoned a hot-fudge-sundae-flavored Pop Tart. I would worry about Chairman Meow later. That cat had been through worse.
Between the pastry and the liquor, my mouth tasted like I'd licked the underside of an ice-cream truck. Not pleasant. In the least. I ambled into the bathroom; while I wasn't about to go out and run a marathon, I was leaps and bounds ahead of where I'd been hours before. I could walk. My main focus was on brushing my teeth and ridding myself of the gasoline-and-chocolate taste, however, I was never one to resist the lure of a mirror. Even when I probably should.
I was a sight to see. I had toothpaste all around my mouth, the lime green brush dangling from my lips as I gaped in horror at my reflection. I hadn't taken off any of the makeup from the previous day, and I had eyeliner down past my cheeks. An angry line of red lipstick was smeared across my jaw. My hair, which had been gelled, was matted down and knotted together tighter than Bob Marley's dreadlocks. I was coated in confetti and I reeked of rum.
"Dear god! What the hell happened last night?" I asked my reflection. Unfortunatly, I was no help to myself. The events between six in the evening and four in the morning up were a blur. I remembered masses of faceless people, blaring music, and enough alcohol to flood a city.
I tore out of the bathroom, hoping that a glimpse of the living room may provide me with clues as to what exactly went down. Trash littered the ground; plastic champagne flutes, etched on the inside from whatever they'd held, the shattered remains of a… crystal octopus? Where the hell did that come from? Glitter had settled like dust on the furniture and floor. The only thing left unharmed was the vast white leather couch where my own fuchsia loveseat should have been.
Dejected, exhausted, and utterly baffled I let myself fall into my newly adopted sofa. I laid there for who knows how long, with my eyes closed and face towards the ceiling. I should have been showering, or cleaning- or at least Vanishing the trash. While my mind reasoned I'd have to do those things eventually, my body protested.
To make the perfect situation even better, the rattling of the lock announced Alec's presence.
Any semblance of composure I'd had went out the window. "Shit! What a great time!"
"Jeez! Sorry! I didn't know I was unwanted."
"Not you, Sweetness." I didn't want Alec to leave, not really.
There was silence for a moment. I assumed he was taking in the shambles of the room around us. "What the hell happened in here?"
"I have no fuckin' idea." There was another lapse in the conversation.
"You should probably clean this up."
"Yup. I should."
A/N: I'm thinking, wild drunken party while Alec was out hunting demons… or at the Institute.
Eeehhh… Jury's still out on this chappy. I'm not sure if I really like it all that much, but it's a vast improvement on the first chapter. Tell me what you guys think!