Post by Delion on Jun 23, 2008 15:59:37 GMT -5
Even before he felt the tug of wakefulness, Delion knew he was hungover. Vague, barely formed thoughts of feeling ill and sore everywhere were probably what began the slow process of waking up.
In the spirits of the festivities, he and Ulthanon had shared in the festivities spirits. There had been some sort of talk about Ghost. ...And pancakes. Some discussion about Ragnaros for whatever reason, and a companionable contest of drinking fortitude.
By the size of the headache that was making its presence more and more clear, Delion might have won.
Okay, wow, -ow-, gods, he was awake. Hells, this wasn't going to go away for a while. He took a long, slow breath. This was made a little difficult by something on his chest. He gave a half-hearted experimental wriggle, which he instantly regretted for two reasons - it made his stomach feel like it was rolling over and over inside him, and he made the simultaneous discovery that this was a person using his chest as a pillow and that they were both very, very naked.
.....It was far too small to be Ulthanon, thank GODS. Oh, gods, now he wanted to vomit. He went to hold his hands over his face to calm himself, only one of them making it. The other was still wrapped around whomever this was quietly breathing on his neck. If it was one of those loose-moralled folk Bricu had sent over last week, he was going to kill the man.
Delion managed - after some bleary eye-rubbing - to open his heavy lids and take a look down his nose at the brown locks tickling his cheek.
...Oh.
He lifted his head briefly, just long enough to confirm those tattoos on her back before dropping back to the pillow.
...Wait.
He lifted his head again, a little too sharply - his mind whirled and threatened to upend itself, and his own hair was trapped beaneath him. He held a hand to his forehead in an effort to stop the world spinning, just staring at Shaila lying beside him.
In the spirits of the festivities, he and Ulthanon had shared in the festivities spirits. There had been some sort of talk about Ghost. ...And pancakes. Some discussion about Ragnaros for whatever reason, and a companionable contest of drinking fortitude.
By the size of the headache that was making its presence more and more clear, Delion might have won.
Okay, wow, -ow-, gods, he was awake. Hells, this wasn't going to go away for a while. He took a long, slow breath. This was made a little difficult by something on his chest. He gave a half-hearted experimental wriggle, which he instantly regretted for two reasons - it made his stomach feel like it was rolling over and over inside him, and he made the simultaneous discovery that this was a person using his chest as a pillow and that they were both very, very naked.
.....It was far too small to be Ulthanon, thank GODS. Oh, gods, now he wanted to vomit. He went to hold his hands over his face to calm himself, only one of them making it. The other was still wrapped around whomever this was quietly breathing on his neck. If it was one of those loose-moralled folk Bricu had sent over last week, he was going to kill the man.
Delion managed - after some bleary eye-rubbing - to open his heavy lids and take a look down his nose at the brown locks tickling his cheek.
...Oh.
He lifted his head briefly, just long enough to confirm those tattoos on her back before dropping back to the pillow.
...Wait.
He lifted his head again, a little too sharply - his mind whirled and threatened to upend itself, and his own hair was trapped beaneath him. He held a hand to his forehead in an effort to stop the world spinning, just staring at Shaila lying beside him.
