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xp_logsBefore Amanda went off to England, she found herself taking care of a very hungover Bobby, who had been drowning his sorrows after the Red Sox were eliminated from the World Series.
Who the hell turned on the light! That was the first thought that came to the mind of Bobby Drake as he rolled over on his side. And why does my bed feel like a damned rock! He tried rolling over again, seeking a more comfortable spot, but couldn't find it. With a groan, he forced himself to sit up. Maybe if he would get up and flip off the lights, he could find a spot and crash again. It was precisely at this moment that he heard a bird chirping. Not the kind you heard through a window, but one right next to your face. Bobby forced his bloodshot eyes open just in time to look directly out to the wild world of the outdoors.
He stumbled to his feet, and slowly slinked off to the side as he tried to figure out what had happened. The majority of the past few days had been a blur. He could still remember, in spite of his best efforts, the final pitch of the Red Sox season. How they had blown one of the biggest leads in Wild Card history was still as much of a mystery as where he was and how he had gotten there. And so Bobby Drake attempted his own version of the Hangover in his mind. Squinting at the ground, he tried to get through as much as he could remember. Obviously he wanted to forget the pitch, but Harry's was a bad choice. The mere sight of a known Sox fan in the bar was going to get him razzed for years to come, so he had gotten on a bus, trying to find a bar where no one had known his shame. And then... nothing...
As he tried to shake his head from side to side and force the cobwebs out, he slowly picked up on a few things around him. It only took him a few more seconds for the words to come to his lips in a dry and raspy tone. "Am I..." He did a double take... "Am I at Amanda's..."
"Well, you're in the gutter outside of Amanda's, to be exact," came a familiar voice, before Amanda's head entered his field of vision. The witch was wearing workout gear and was pink-faced and breathing slightly heavily after her early morning run in Tomkins Park. "You look like complete and utter shite, Popsicle."
"I feel like it too." He scratched his head, turning it from side to side as he tried to squint against the sunlight, which was making his head throb even more. "How in the hell did I get..." But suddenly he saw the turned over wheelbarrow next to the spot he had woken up. Apparently at least someone in the bar he wound up at wasn't just going to leave him there. "Can I at least bother you for a cup of black coffee so I can think straight?" He was just as confused as ever, but if he didn't calm down his head a bit, there was no way he was going to figure anything out.
She shook her head at him and held out a hand to help him up. "Black coffee, juice and aspirin," she promised. "And then you get to tell me the whole sordid story. By the looks of your ride here, it ought to be a good one."
Bobby limped after her, raising his hand to his head. "I can do my best to fill in as many details as I can..." He found himself staggering even more as his equilibrium was thrown off as he tried to walk. "I do remember the Red Sox losing... and a bus trip... and I'm pretty sure a transvestite was hitting on me at one point..." The image of the latter seemed to flash in his mind as their was no way he could repress that one. "But yeah, I hope it was a good night."
"Well, you didn't end up waking up next to the trannie, so maybe it wasn't as good as it could have been?" the witch teased as they entered the Brownstone. "Might have been better than waking up in the gutter. And who the fuck are the Red Sox?"
Bobby had to pause for a second as he tilted his head to the side, insisting that he took his time to give a jab back at Amanda. "They're like Boston's own personal Quidditch team. Are those terms you can wrap your head around." Drake was never any good at teasing her as a faint smile always turned up the corners of his lips. "And you know my motto with the trannies. One is enough for a life time." Drake turned his head around the Brownstone as they began shuffling through. Despite his life being one among the secretive, this place always seemed like the Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum to him. Maybe that's why he always had the urge to touch things despite the fear that Remy and a whole band of guards would come running around the corner.
"Quidditch?" Amanda snorted. "You do remember me turning Jake into a frog in school for making Harry Potter jokes, yeah? Feel like spending a few hours going "ribbit"?" It wasn't really a threat and her grin proved that. "So, a sports team was behind all this? Seriously?"
"Sports team. Awkward situation with a wife. You know. The usual for me." He let out a bit of a laugh as he nudged his elbow against the Brit. "Sometimes I wonder if being a frog might make my life just a little bit easier ya know?" A smirk let out of his face. "But of course a frog can't get their slimy hands on whiskey to help them not get over not being able to find flies, or whatever the hell amphibians worry about."
"I think I've been a bad influence on you," Amanda replied. "All this drowning of sorrows and all. Turning into a right boozer, you are."
Bobby paused for a second, throwing his hands out to the side. "Hey now, I haven't gotten to that point yet." He let out a wide smile. "Remember who's the one who has had to help the other one out of the bar because they have a higher liquor tolerance." He paused a second in his tracks. "Wait a minute... how in the hell is that supposed to make me sound any better?"
"It won't, lightweight," came the smug response. "But seriously, watch it, yeah? Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, but winding up in a gutter isn't good." And Amanda knew about using alcohol to avoid problems - she'd been through it in high school and barely made it through the other side.
Bobby snorted a laugh at Amanda for a second. "Who in the world would have ever thought that you'd be the one giving me advice on being responsible." It was something that was a bit ironic, but one he probably could have seen coming. Amanda had been the main person helping him get through the rough patch of his marriage. She had helped him fit back in upon his return from Europe. And now it seemed like she was the one that might help him from falling into his old booze hound ways. "But to be honest, I still think that the sound of alcohol, even with this headache, sounds better than trying to eat baked beans for breakfast." He gave a false shudder as a tease.
"Takes one to know one?" Amanda snorted. "And just for that insult, you're risking a full Amanda Sefton Special Fry-Up. It's good for what ails you and hardens arteries at fifty paces."
"I could deal with that." Bobby added with a smile. Sometimes with the complications of life, a good, unhealthy breakfast with a friend, and no complicated questions, might be just what he needed.
Who the hell turned on the light! That was the first thought that came to the mind of Bobby Drake as he rolled over on his side. And why does my bed feel like a damned rock! He tried rolling over again, seeking a more comfortable spot, but couldn't find it. With a groan, he forced himself to sit up. Maybe if he would get up and flip off the lights, he could find a spot and crash again. It was precisely at this moment that he heard a bird chirping. Not the kind you heard through a window, but one right next to your face. Bobby forced his bloodshot eyes open just in time to look directly out to the wild world of the outdoors.
He stumbled to his feet, and slowly slinked off to the side as he tried to figure out what had happened. The majority of the past few days had been a blur. He could still remember, in spite of his best efforts, the final pitch of the Red Sox season. How they had blown one of the biggest leads in Wild Card history was still as much of a mystery as where he was and how he had gotten there. And so Bobby Drake attempted his own version of the Hangover in his mind. Squinting at the ground, he tried to get through as much as he could remember. Obviously he wanted to forget the pitch, but Harry's was a bad choice. The mere sight of a known Sox fan in the bar was going to get him razzed for years to come, so he had gotten on a bus, trying to find a bar where no one had known his shame. And then... nothing...
As he tried to shake his head from side to side and force the cobwebs out, he slowly picked up on a few things around him. It only took him a few more seconds for the words to come to his lips in a dry and raspy tone. "Am I..." He did a double take... "Am I at Amanda's..."
"Well, you're in the gutter outside of Amanda's, to be exact," came a familiar voice, before Amanda's head entered his field of vision. The witch was wearing workout gear and was pink-faced and breathing slightly heavily after her early morning run in Tomkins Park. "You look like complete and utter shite, Popsicle."
"I feel like it too." He scratched his head, turning it from side to side as he tried to squint against the sunlight, which was making his head throb even more. "How in the hell did I get..." But suddenly he saw the turned over wheelbarrow next to the spot he had woken up. Apparently at least someone in the bar he wound up at wasn't just going to leave him there. "Can I at least bother you for a cup of black coffee so I can think straight?" He was just as confused as ever, but if he didn't calm down his head a bit, there was no way he was going to figure anything out.
She shook her head at him and held out a hand to help him up. "Black coffee, juice and aspirin," she promised. "And then you get to tell me the whole sordid story. By the looks of your ride here, it ought to be a good one."
Bobby limped after her, raising his hand to his head. "I can do my best to fill in as many details as I can..." He found himself staggering even more as his equilibrium was thrown off as he tried to walk. "I do remember the Red Sox losing... and a bus trip... and I'm pretty sure a transvestite was hitting on me at one point..." The image of the latter seemed to flash in his mind as their was no way he could repress that one. "But yeah, I hope it was a good night."
"Well, you didn't end up waking up next to the trannie, so maybe it wasn't as good as it could have been?" the witch teased as they entered the Brownstone. "Might have been better than waking up in the gutter. And who the fuck are the Red Sox?"
Bobby had to pause for a second as he tilted his head to the side, insisting that he took his time to give a jab back at Amanda. "They're like Boston's own personal Quidditch team. Are those terms you can wrap your head around." Drake was never any good at teasing her as a faint smile always turned up the corners of his lips. "And you know my motto with the trannies. One is enough for a life time." Drake turned his head around the Brownstone as they began shuffling through. Despite his life being one among the secretive, this place always seemed like the Ripley's Believe it or Not Museum to him. Maybe that's why he always had the urge to touch things despite the fear that Remy and a whole band of guards would come running around the corner.
"Quidditch?" Amanda snorted. "You do remember me turning Jake into a frog in school for making Harry Potter jokes, yeah? Feel like spending a few hours going "ribbit"?" It wasn't really a threat and her grin proved that. "So, a sports team was behind all this? Seriously?"
"Sports team. Awkward situation with a wife. You know. The usual for me." He let out a bit of a laugh as he nudged his elbow against the Brit. "Sometimes I wonder if being a frog might make my life just a little bit easier ya know?" A smirk let out of his face. "But of course a frog can't get their slimy hands on whiskey to help them not get over not being able to find flies, or whatever the hell amphibians worry about."
"I think I've been a bad influence on you," Amanda replied. "All this drowning of sorrows and all. Turning into a right boozer, you are."
Bobby paused for a second, throwing his hands out to the side. "Hey now, I haven't gotten to that point yet." He let out a wide smile. "Remember who's the one who has had to help the other one out of the bar because they have a higher liquor tolerance." He paused a second in his tracks. "Wait a minute... how in the hell is that supposed to make me sound any better?"
"It won't, lightweight," came the smug response. "But seriously, watch it, yeah? Nothing wrong with a bit of fun, but winding up in a gutter isn't good." And Amanda knew about using alcohol to avoid problems - she'd been through it in high school and barely made it through the other side.
Bobby snorted a laugh at Amanda for a second. "Who in the world would have ever thought that you'd be the one giving me advice on being responsible." It was something that was a bit ironic, but one he probably could have seen coming. Amanda had been the main person helping him get through the rough patch of his marriage. She had helped him fit back in upon his return from Europe. And now it seemed like she was the one that might help him from falling into his old booze hound ways. "But to be honest, I still think that the sound of alcohol, even with this headache, sounds better than trying to eat baked beans for breakfast." He gave a false shudder as a tease.
"Takes one to know one?" Amanda snorted. "And just for that insult, you're risking a full Amanda Sefton Special Fry-Up. It's good for what ails you and hardens arteries at fifty paces."
"I could deal with that." Bobby added with a smile. Sometimes with the complications of life, a good, unhealthy breakfast with a friend, and no complicated questions, might be just what he needed.
