Rin-Zola
Breakfast for after the Afterparty... You down?
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There's fun, and then there's whatever it was that had become the night before. Certain questionable words were thrown out, maybe a wrestle or two with veins filled with liquid courage or one too many moments suffered. Either way, the thump of Mardi Gras and the afterparty thereafter was a freshly vague memory. One that was obfuscated by the comfort of the cushions of the couch beneath aching muscles and the soothing sizzle of an aromatic breakfast to calm the swollen headache of an intense night out. The noises that came from burning lungs and the bitter taste of whatever else lingered as blinking away the fall sun rising over the windowed horizon of the penthouse was established. The party, its inhabitants, and the memory itself was a caustic blur, until the asiatic smoothness of a voice calling from the opulent penthouse behind behind the blanket-covered couch called out.
Ooo, lookie... Somebody's finally wakin' the ache away, étua? Come getchu some OJ, cher... Breakfast almost done, just a lil mo...*Rin's voice, one that seemed to know just know the moment the shuffling and stretching had come in earnest. Just what happened last night, and how did you get here?