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xp_logsMiles and Bobby are drunk at the party.
Bobby was alone on a couch. Why was Bobby alone on a couch? Had he just finished regaling his peers with another masterfully crafted set of puns? Was he taking a break? Whatever the reason, Miles felt it was his duty to make sure he wasn't alone anymore. He plopped down on the couch next to Bobby — right next to him, even though it was big enough to seat three people — and affectionately threw an arm around Bobby's shoulders. "Bobbyyyyyyy, where's your drink, cumpa?"
Before Miles' arrival, Bobby was just staring up at the ceiling, an empty cup on the floor next to his feet. He'd finished his most recent drink and hadn't gotten up to get another yet, he was waiting for the room to stop spinning or at least slow down first.
"Hey man, I dunno, did you see it anywhere?" He turned his head to face Miles, though he was still looking up a little. "Oh wait, did you just give me, is it, maybe..." Bobby tried to turn his head around to look in Miles' hand that was around his shoulder, though his lack of coordination made it hard to do.
Miles held his own cup far from Bobby's reach. The drink sloshed from the rapid movement, spilling a little onto the couch, which Miles didn't notice. "Nooooo, this is mine! You get your own. How why come you're just sitting here all alone, though? Don't tell me you're tired! It's so early."
"What? No, I'm not tired," Bobby replied while stifling a yawn. That was more reflex at the mention of tiredness than actually being tired but still. He sat up more, having to move closer to Miles since the end of the couch was on his other side. "'M not tired, just resting, is all. I need a drink," he concluded, though he didn't move to do anything about it. He eyed Miles' drink for a second. "...what are you drinkin'?"
Legs pressed up together, Miles noticed Bobby's skin was cool, which was actually quite refreshing in the house heated by dozens of other bodies in various states of inebriation. He was running pretty warm himself. "Es beer. Whatever's in that thing, watchamacallit, el barril. The keg! That's it. I dunno. It's not very good but there's a lot of it."
"No man, s'good, really good." It really wasn't but Bobby didn't have the best of taste when it came to alcohol in general, from lack of experience, and he'd already had more than a few so his already limited exposure was skewed even further than normal. "I should go, to get more, more beers." Bobby turned his head to look at Miles. "You want more beers, buddy? I can make 'em really cool, and they're already cool because beer is cool hahaha get it?"
"I gueeeeess." Miles sounded so put-upon that he'd have to get up after just sitting down, even though that carried the promise of more booze. "But this couch is comfy and if you leave then I'm prolly gonna fall down. You'd have to live with that, if I broke my head open and splattered my brains everywhere. Sploosh!"
"Oh man no, not your brains," Bobby said with a sad look. "You need brains, it's not like, like hair or shoes or stuff you don't really need to live." Which was all true, but he also looked at his empty glass and wanted to refill it. Decisions, decisions. He thought for a second and then a solution presented itself, which he acknowledged by trying to snap his fingers but failed and just kind of rubbed his thumb and forefinger together on his right hand. "Oh. Oh man, I got it. Hold, hold on, ok? Hold."
He put his glass down and got up, taking an awkward step back, stumbling at first until he caught himself by smacking against the wall. Then Bobby reached down and grabbed the bottom of his hoodie, yanking it up over his head. It caught on his face, which ouch, and also lifted his t-shirt underneath it up to his chin too, revealing his chest while he was stuck, arms up and clothing half off.
"Mmfph, awhlmost." Struggling for another few seconds, he finally got the hoodie off, then readjusted his t-shirt before grinning and presenting the hoodie to Miles. "There you go, like, a pillow type thing for your head. To keep your brains in so you don't die and stuff."
Miles watched and laughed (not giggled!, only little boys and girls did that) while Bobby struggled through his ordeal. But to be supportive he also offered a loud wolf whistle when Bobby accidentally exposed his torso to the whole party. "Please come back soon, though. I'm going to miss you!"
"I will!" Bobby shouted his promise as he waved to Miles, bumping his shoulder against the doorway as he found his way out. He also lifted his empty plastic glass for emphasis in his other hand. "With drinks too! I'll bring you some drinks and we can drinks together too 'k?" He punctuated it with a burp then giggled (sorry Miles) as he left on his epic quest for more beverages which he clearly did not need.
Miles waited patiently for Bobby to return. He finished what was left in his cup, sent a few texts to Becky who was over on the other side of the house chatting up with her drama club friends Miles liked to avoid because yikes theater kids, and was a couple rounds into a game of Bejeweled by the time Bobby came back with two cups of frosty cold beer. "Welcome back to the couch and to the me!" he greeted, accepting one of the cups and scooting over an inch so Bobby could sit down again without landing on Miles's lap.
"Ayyyy!" Bobby handed over one cup and then plopped down unceremoniously next to his roomie, spilling some of his drink in the process but not noticing. He let out a big sigh as he leaned back and exhaled, resting his head against the back of the couch and lifting his legs up. When he put them back down one of them crossed over with Miles' leg at the ankle.
"Haha, I'm back for the couch and my hoodie and for you but not in that ordering, maybe. With the beers too which are high in the ordering because beer is good." He grinned and reached his cup over to toast Miles. "Is my hoodie been good to you, broseph?"
If Miles noticed or even cared that personal space was quickly becoming not a concept anymore, he didn't say anything. This was much too nice. Why didn't they do this all the time? They needed to find someone to get beer for them. Maybe Gabo would. "Huh? What hoodie? Oh right, that hoodie. Here." He reached behind him and passed the wadded sweatshirt back to Bobby when he noticed the spill. "Hey, your pants are wet. Did you pee yourself? Gross."
"Huh?" Bobby looked down at his pants, then reached down with his free hand to feel it for himself. It was indeed wet, which surprised the crap out of him. "Dude how did that happen?" He lifted his finger to his nose to smell it, then put it into his mouth to taste the liquid. "Nope, it's not pee, man." Chuckling at the look Miles gave him, he held his fingers out towards the other mutant. "Don't believe me? See for yourself man! It's just beers which is ok because beers is good and can't be wasted. But I did waste it so, uh, you can waste it but you shouldn't, yeah. Yeah, that's it."
"Eww, gross." Miles batted Bobby's hand away. "I'm not sucking on your fingers. Ay, you need a girlfriend already. Where's Amara? Maybe she'll take one for the team."
"Hey it's beer, beer's not gross," he replied. His fingers were ok too because they were his fingers and they weren't dirty. He shook his head, then blinked when Miles mentioned Amara. "Oh yeah, hey, heyyyyy." Bobby blinked again, trying to remember where he last saw her. "Heyyyyy. Yeah, ok, that, my friend, is a good idea."
Miles blinked. "Wait what really? I think I was joking but . . . wait, really? You're hot on Amara? Uh, pun not intended." This was a new development. Bobby had never made any indication of his interest before. Or maybe it was just the beer and she was the first name proposed. Either way, Miles shipped it. He sat up, untangling his leg from Bobby's, and leaned in close. "What if she melts you, though?" he whispered conspiratorially.
"Pfft, not gonna happen, bro," Bobby said, waving his hand awkwardly away from himself. "I mean, yeah, she's like the hottest girl, liberally speaking, but, like, I'm the coolest guy. Ever." He flashed Miles a thumbs up, flicking a little teeny bit of snow up at the same time, careful not to show off too much in public even in his heavily inebriated state.
"Like, the coolest of the cool, both liberally and figure eight've'ly speaking," he finished, adding a hiccup at the end. "So I'm gonna be ok, man." He paused and took a sip from his glass, then frowned at Miles. "Dude what were we talking about again?"
"How you're gonna make a complete ass of yourself in front of the hot Brazilian exchange student who's got, like, literally every straight single guy here wanting to get inside what I can only assume are fireproof underwears." Miles slowly, deliberately got up from the couch and onto his own two feet. He didn't even sway, although he did hold out his arms to balance himself. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Go!"
"Haha, fireproof underwears," Bobby repeated with a laugh. "They'd have to be made with, like, ass-bestos, hahaha! Get it? Ass? Bestos? Because fireproof, hehehe," he continued, giggling the entire time.
"Ok, ok, no, you're right, you're right." He tried hard to stop laughing, tittering here and there before completely stopping. "I need to get my game on, my game face. On. Ice cold, smooth, smooth as... as a baby's head." Frowning again, he looked to Miles. "Is that it? Whatever, smooth. I got this." He yanked his hoodie off of the couch, nearly falling over from the shift in balance, then put it on over his beer soaked shirt and pulled his head through it. He was ready.
Bobby was alone on a couch. Why was Bobby alone on a couch? Had he just finished regaling his peers with another masterfully crafted set of puns? Was he taking a break? Whatever the reason, Miles felt it was his duty to make sure he wasn't alone anymore. He plopped down on the couch next to Bobby — right next to him, even though it was big enough to seat three people — and affectionately threw an arm around Bobby's shoulders. "Bobbyyyyyyy, where's your drink, cumpa?"
Before Miles' arrival, Bobby was just staring up at the ceiling, an empty cup on the floor next to his feet. He'd finished his most recent drink and hadn't gotten up to get another yet, he was waiting for the room to stop spinning or at least slow down first.
"Hey man, I dunno, did you see it anywhere?" He turned his head to face Miles, though he was still looking up a little. "Oh wait, did you just give me, is it, maybe..." Bobby tried to turn his head around to look in Miles' hand that was around his shoulder, though his lack of coordination made it hard to do.
Miles held his own cup far from Bobby's reach. The drink sloshed from the rapid movement, spilling a little onto the couch, which Miles didn't notice. "Nooooo, this is mine! You get your own. How why come you're just sitting here all alone, though? Don't tell me you're tired! It's so early."
"What? No, I'm not tired," Bobby replied while stifling a yawn. That was more reflex at the mention of tiredness than actually being tired but still. He sat up more, having to move closer to Miles since the end of the couch was on his other side. "'M not tired, just resting, is all. I need a drink," he concluded, though he didn't move to do anything about it. He eyed Miles' drink for a second. "...what are you drinkin'?"
Legs pressed up together, Miles noticed Bobby's skin was cool, which was actually quite refreshing in the house heated by dozens of other bodies in various states of inebriation. He was running pretty warm himself. "Es beer. Whatever's in that thing, watchamacallit, el barril. The keg! That's it. I dunno. It's not very good but there's a lot of it."
"No man, s'good, really good." It really wasn't but Bobby didn't have the best of taste when it came to alcohol in general, from lack of experience, and he'd already had more than a few so his already limited exposure was skewed even further than normal. "I should go, to get more, more beers." Bobby turned his head to look at Miles. "You want more beers, buddy? I can make 'em really cool, and they're already cool because beer is cool hahaha get it?"
"I gueeeeess." Miles sounded so put-upon that he'd have to get up after just sitting down, even though that carried the promise of more booze. "But this couch is comfy and if you leave then I'm prolly gonna fall down. You'd have to live with that, if I broke my head open and splattered my brains everywhere. Sploosh!"
"Oh man no, not your brains," Bobby said with a sad look. "You need brains, it's not like, like hair or shoes or stuff you don't really need to live." Which was all true, but he also looked at his empty glass and wanted to refill it. Decisions, decisions. He thought for a second and then a solution presented itself, which he acknowledged by trying to snap his fingers but failed and just kind of rubbed his thumb and forefinger together on his right hand. "Oh. Oh man, I got it. Hold, hold on, ok? Hold."
He put his glass down and got up, taking an awkward step back, stumbling at first until he caught himself by smacking against the wall. Then Bobby reached down and grabbed the bottom of his hoodie, yanking it up over his head. It caught on his face, which ouch, and also lifted his t-shirt underneath it up to his chin too, revealing his chest while he was stuck, arms up and clothing half off.
"Mmfph, awhlmost." Struggling for another few seconds, he finally got the hoodie off, then readjusted his t-shirt before grinning and presenting the hoodie to Miles. "There you go, like, a pillow type thing for your head. To keep your brains in so you don't die and stuff."
Miles watched and laughed (not giggled!, only little boys and girls did that) while Bobby struggled through his ordeal. But to be supportive he also offered a loud wolf whistle when Bobby accidentally exposed his torso to the whole party. "Please come back soon, though. I'm going to miss you!"
"I will!" Bobby shouted his promise as he waved to Miles, bumping his shoulder against the doorway as he found his way out. He also lifted his empty plastic glass for emphasis in his other hand. "With drinks too! I'll bring you some drinks and we can drinks together too 'k?" He punctuated it with a burp then giggled (sorry Miles) as he left on his epic quest for more beverages which he clearly did not need.
Miles waited patiently for Bobby to return. He finished what was left in his cup, sent a few texts to Becky who was over on the other side of the house chatting up with her drama club friends Miles liked to avoid because yikes theater kids, and was a couple rounds into a game of Bejeweled by the time Bobby came back with two cups of frosty cold beer. "Welcome back to the couch and to the me!" he greeted, accepting one of the cups and scooting over an inch so Bobby could sit down again without landing on Miles's lap.
"Ayyyy!" Bobby handed over one cup and then plopped down unceremoniously next to his roomie, spilling some of his drink in the process but not noticing. He let out a big sigh as he leaned back and exhaled, resting his head against the back of the couch and lifting his legs up. When he put them back down one of them crossed over with Miles' leg at the ankle.
"Haha, I'm back for the couch and my hoodie and for you but not in that ordering, maybe. With the beers too which are high in the ordering because beer is good." He grinned and reached his cup over to toast Miles. "Is my hoodie been good to you, broseph?"
If Miles noticed or even cared that personal space was quickly becoming not a concept anymore, he didn't say anything. This was much too nice. Why didn't they do this all the time? They needed to find someone to get beer for them. Maybe Gabo would. "Huh? What hoodie? Oh right, that hoodie. Here." He reached behind him and passed the wadded sweatshirt back to Bobby when he noticed the spill. "Hey, your pants are wet. Did you pee yourself? Gross."
"Huh?" Bobby looked down at his pants, then reached down with his free hand to feel it for himself. It was indeed wet, which surprised the crap out of him. "Dude how did that happen?" He lifted his finger to his nose to smell it, then put it into his mouth to taste the liquid. "Nope, it's not pee, man." Chuckling at the look Miles gave him, he held his fingers out towards the other mutant. "Don't believe me? See for yourself man! It's just beers which is ok because beers is good and can't be wasted. But I did waste it so, uh, you can waste it but you shouldn't, yeah. Yeah, that's it."
"Eww, gross." Miles batted Bobby's hand away. "I'm not sucking on your fingers. Ay, you need a girlfriend already. Where's Amara? Maybe she'll take one for the team."
"Hey it's beer, beer's not gross," he replied. His fingers were ok too because they were his fingers and they weren't dirty. He shook his head, then blinked when Miles mentioned Amara. "Oh yeah, hey, heyyyyy." Bobby blinked again, trying to remember where he last saw her. "Heyyyyy. Yeah, ok, that, my friend, is a good idea."
Miles blinked. "Wait what really? I think I was joking but . . . wait, really? You're hot on Amara? Uh, pun not intended." This was a new development. Bobby had never made any indication of his interest before. Or maybe it was just the beer and she was the first name proposed. Either way, Miles shipped it. He sat up, untangling his leg from Bobby's, and leaned in close. "What if she melts you, though?" he whispered conspiratorially.
"Pfft, not gonna happen, bro," Bobby said, waving his hand awkwardly away from himself. "I mean, yeah, she's like the hottest girl, liberally speaking, but, like, I'm the coolest guy. Ever." He flashed Miles a thumbs up, flicking a little teeny bit of snow up at the same time, careful not to show off too much in public even in his heavily inebriated state.
"Like, the coolest of the cool, both liberally and figure eight've'ly speaking," he finished, adding a hiccup at the end. "So I'm gonna be ok, man." He paused and took a sip from his glass, then frowned at Miles. "Dude what were we talking about again?"
"How you're gonna make a complete ass of yourself in front of the hot Brazilian exchange student who's got, like, literally every straight single guy here wanting to get inside what I can only assume are fireproof underwears." Miles slowly, deliberately got up from the couch and onto his own two feet. He didn't even sway, although he did hold out his arms to balance himself. "What the fuck are you waiting for? Go!"
"Haha, fireproof underwears," Bobby repeated with a laugh. "They'd have to be made with, like, ass-bestos, hahaha! Get it? Ass? Bestos? Because fireproof, hehehe," he continued, giggling the entire time.
"Ok, ok, no, you're right, you're right." He tried hard to stop laughing, tittering here and there before completely stopping. "I need to get my game on, my game face. On. Ice cold, smooth, smooth as... as a baby's head." Frowning again, he looked to Miles. "Is that it? Whatever, smooth. I got this." He yanked his hoodie off of the couch, nearly falling over from the shift in balance, then put it on over his beer soaked shirt and pulled his head through it. He was ready.
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