[Sharky's just hoping Pratt makes it back to his room before collapsing. Ugh, it probably hurts pretty bad. They're both used to going without painkillers for minor(ish) injuries, but that still doesn't stop his sympathy.]
Me fuckin' too, man! I mean, the food here is delish, no lie, but it's all fuckin' normal shit. Must suck if your favorite comfort food is, like, roast wampa or some shit... [He's glad his comfort food is bacon, Doritos and energy drinks, that's for sure.] Closest I've gotten is by, like, orderin' weird shit at the bar, but I think that's just sorta me fuckin' with the ghosts. Brad's cool and all, but I don't think he knows how to actually make a Pan Galactic whatever-the-fuck.
[It does in fact hurt pretty bad, but he's powering through. Actually the loopy lightheadedness is helping a lot, because it means he can't focus on the pain, or much of anything really.]
Right, or what if you're a robot and eat circuit boards or something? Actually.... what are the vampires eating?
[Wait wait... He'd always thought it weird that Claudia is a child wandering around with a coffee cup, but being that he's 90% caffeine himself he never really questioned that. It has never occurred to him before this moment that what's in there is absolutely not coffee.]
Oh! Ohhhh. Yeah... Okay that makes sense. Nevermind. I wonder if it's like.. seasoned? Do the vampires get blood in all the varieties that Pepsi comes in?
[Cuz if he was a vampire, he'd want the Mountain Dew option.]
[Maybe they should have taken more than 10 seconds to look through the array of pain medication before deciding nah, but sometimes you gotta be a real dumb alpha dick about things.]
There was blood ice cream, for sure. I dunno if it was really sweet or anything... [He should ask!] I figure it's probably somethin' you could mix, like, bullion cubes or somethin' in, right? Like a stew or somethin'.
And yeah, obviously I named a bartender. I dunno which one, though, so I just call 'em all that now.
[If there's one thing that Pratt is an expert at it's self sabotaging himself in pursuit of some alpha manly image. He's a fucking pro.]
Being a vampire must suck. Only get to eat one thing forever? That's gotta blow. I thought I could live on pizza until I was working at 8-Bit Pizza in high school and super broke and basically ate pizza nonstop cuz it was free. I couldn't look at a slice for months after I quit that place.
Hate not being able to see the ghosts here. Creeps me out.
[He's getting real drowsy, and as soon as the door to the elevator opens he's stumbling out and headed for his room. Because it's going to take everything in him to pass out in his bed instead of on the floor. Maybe his roommate can just... walk around him or something.]
Man, we used to hole up in there sometimes when Rook was out, y'know, bein' Rook. Thought I'd never stop smellin' like garlic and dishwater.
[Sharky's room is literally right there, but he ignores the sweet sanctity of his bed for just a few minutes longer. There's no way he isn't making sure Pratt conks out in his bed and not like, halfway down the hall or something.]
Here, man, comin' in on your good side. [Which is enough warning, probably, but he's still careful about putting hands on Pratt. But the guy is literally gonna fall over without somebody propping him up, and Sharky's got that much in the bag.
Of course, if Pratt waves him off, he's backing off. He's not an idiot!]
Dunno if I wanna see them, y'know? That's like, true horror movie shit. I'm good with them doin' their ghost shit on their weird ghost-plane or whatever.
If anything survived the apocalypse it would be the gluten free dough there. I swear that stuff was cornmeal, rocks, and glue. It was awful. But those weird yuppies from California who show up to do 'eco-tourism' fucking loved it.
[And sometimes they loved sampling the local flavor in better ways than pizza so you know.. all worked out.]
Yeah, okay. [He is woozy enough to lean against Sharky, no questions asked, no manly posturing required.] Feel bad they have to make our beds and feed us and we can't even say thanks. Aren't you supposed to tip housekeeping staff? What am I supposed to do, leave them ghost dollars?
[Pratt's tail-tales would honestly put any and all of Sharky's to shame. Not one involves furries, though, which is kind of a bummer.]
Maybe it's like in the stores, and if you just... pretend to leave some money out, they'll be satisfied? So, uh, yeah. Ghost dollars.
[Sharky can see Pratt's door down the hall, which is great. But he's thinking it over now and honestly, the guy could probably use some more advil or something for when he wakes up...]
Yo, lemme have your key. I'll go grab some shit for you in the infirmary so you can, y'know. Zonk the fuck out.
[He would trade all his sexual escapades for not being a psycho disaster. But since he can't, at least he has good stories.
Unfortunately he's fading fast, Sharky only gets a grunt in response, as he digs around in his pocket with his good arm, and holds a key out in his general direction.
As soon as the door is open he's going to head for the bed and collapse face first into it with a groan. He'll be glad his roommate isn't there, but right now he's pretty much forgotten she exists. It's time to pass out and pretend this didn't happen.]
[There, there, little guy, it's all okay now. Safe in his bed and passed the fuck out, and Sharky does literally the barest-minimum cleanup around the bed before bouncing out of the room. Back down he goes to the infirmary, to dig up some Vicodin or something for Pratt to take when he wakes up. Maybe some aspirin??
...He finds a lot of opiates. Cocaine syrup, opium drops, an entire fuckin' menagerie of old-timey medicines that would put him behind prison bars at home.
...He takes quite a few of them to stuff into his pockets. FOR PRATT, OBVIOUSLY. The guy needs it and it isn't like Sharky's much of a user. But, like. You know. It's liquid cocaine, man. He's got to keep some in his room for. You know. Emergencies.
Sharky sneaks back into Pratt's room, and leaves one little tincture bottle of what's probably enough opium to kill a horse, plus a cup of water and his phone, well within in reach in case he wakes up losing his mind again. There there, lil' fella. You'll be okay after a couple of days of opiate abuse.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Me fuckin' too, man! I mean, the food here is delish, no lie, but it's all fuckin' normal shit. Must suck if your favorite comfort food is, like, roast wampa or some shit... [He's glad his comfort food is bacon, Doritos and energy drinks, that's for sure.] Closest I've gotten is by, like, orderin' weird shit at the bar, but I think that's just sorta me fuckin' with the ghosts. Brad's cool and all, but I don't think he knows how to actually make a Pan Galactic whatever-the-fuck.
no subject
Right, or what if you're a robot and eat circuit boards or something? Actually.... what are the vampires eating?
[Wait wait... He'd always thought it weird that Claudia is a child wandering around with a coffee cup, but being that he's 90% caffeine himself he never really questioned that. It has never occurred to him before this moment that what's in there is absolutely not coffee.]
Oh! Ohhhh. Yeah... Okay that makes sense. Nevermind. I wonder if it's like.. seasoned? Do the vampires get blood in all the varieties that Pepsi comes in?
[Cuz if he was a vampire, he'd want the Mountain Dew option.]
Brad? Did you name the bartender?
no subject
There was blood ice cream, for sure. I dunno if it was really sweet or anything... [He should ask!] I figure it's probably somethin' you could mix, like, bullion cubes or somethin' in, right? Like a stew or somethin'.
And yeah, obviously I named a bartender. I dunno which one, though, so I just call 'em all that now.
no subject
Being a vampire must suck. Only get to eat one thing forever? That's gotta blow. I thought I could live on pizza until I was working at 8-Bit Pizza in high school and super broke and basically ate pizza nonstop cuz it was free. I couldn't look at a slice for months after I quit that place.
Hate not being able to see the ghosts here. Creeps me out.
[He's getting real drowsy, and as soon as the door to the elevator opens he's stumbling out and headed for his room. Because it's going to take everything in him to pass out in his bed instead of on the floor. Maybe his roommate can just... walk around him or something.]
no subject
[Sharky's room is literally right there, but he ignores the sweet sanctity of his bed for just a few minutes longer. There's no way he isn't making sure Pratt conks out in his bed and not like, halfway down the hall or something.]
Here, man, comin' in on your good side. [Which is enough warning, probably, but he's still careful about putting hands on Pratt. But the guy is literally gonna fall over without somebody propping him up, and Sharky's got that much in the bag.
Of course, if Pratt waves him off, he's backing off. He's not an idiot!]
Dunno if I wanna see them, y'know? That's like, true horror movie shit. I'm good with them doin' their ghost shit on their weird ghost-plane or whatever.
no subject
[And sometimes they loved sampling the local flavor in better ways than pizza so you know.. all worked out.]
Yeah, okay. [He is woozy enough to lean against Sharky, no questions asked, no manly posturing required.] Feel bad they have to make our beds and feed us and we can't even say thanks. Aren't you supposed to tip housekeeping staff? What am I supposed to do, leave them ghost dollars?
no subject
Maybe it's like in the stores, and if you just... pretend to leave some money out, they'll be satisfied? So, uh, yeah. Ghost dollars.
[Sharky can see Pratt's door down the hall, which is great. But he's thinking it over now and honestly, the guy could probably use some more advil or something for when he wakes up...]
Yo, lemme have your key. I'll go grab some shit for you in the infirmary so you can, y'know. Zonk the fuck out.
no subject
Unfortunately he's fading fast, Sharky only gets a grunt in response, as he digs around in his pocket with his good arm, and holds a key out in his general direction.
As soon as the door is open he's going to head for the bed and collapse face first into it with a groan. He'll be glad his roommate isn't there, but right now he's pretty much forgotten she exists. It's time to pass out and pretend this didn't happen.]
no subject
...He finds a lot of opiates. Cocaine syrup, opium drops, an entire fuckin' menagerie of old-timey medicines that would put him behind prison bars at home.
...He takes quite a few of them to stuff into his pockets. FOR PRATT, OBVIOUSLY. The guy needs it and it isn't like Sharky's much of a user. But, like. You know. It's liquid cocaine, man. He's got to keep some in his room for. You know. Emergencies.
Sharky sneaks back into Pratt's room, and leaves one little tincture bottle of what's probably enough opium to kill a horse, plus a cup of water and his phone, well within in reach in case he wakes up losing his mind again. There there, lil' fella. You'll be okay after a couple of days of opiate abuse.]