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.]
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[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.]