milliways_bar | Stomachache Wednesday

There was nobody in the bed other than herself when she awoke this morning, and there are no plastic bead necklaces around (the ones the Bar put on her are gone, and she figures if she'd earned some more, they would still be here). There is no evidence that she did anything really, blindingly stupid last night - except for a killer hangover and, well, the fact that she doesn't remember a large chunk of last night. She doesn't even remember where she stopped remembering.

After taking a shower so she looks and feels a bit less like death warmed over, she stumbles down the stairs into the Bar. "Grpmh. Fuckinell," she mutters as she emerges into what seems to her like a cruelly excessive amount of light, though in actuality it is no brighter than usual. She doesn't know what time it is, but she is dimly aware that there aren't many people around. Some are eating breakfast quietly, a few others are slumped on the tables, asleep. There is no mess from last night, although YT is sure that the patrons of the Bar must have made one. Either the waitrats or the Bar itself cleaned up good.

YT stumbles over to the bar proper and mumbles out a request for a glass of ice water. It appears, accompanied by two unasked-for aspirin in a small saucer. YT is not sure whether the Bar is trying to help or whether it's mocking her. She doesn't really care. She scoops up the medicine, drops it in her mouth and washes it down with the water, which is so cold it makes her teeth hurt and intensifies her throbbing headache. It also seems to clear the fog a bit.

She's always wondered if a Prairie Oyster actually works, and now seems as good a time as any to find out. But she'd better see if she can hold down plain water first.

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YT had lifted her head a bit at the beginning of this exchange, but that started the room spinning, so she curls her arm into a sort of pillow on the top of the Bar and lays her head on that. It stops the spinning, mostly.

"The Bar put people in funny costumes," she informs him. "Gave me a bunch of those beads. Y'know, the ones you get for..." A sudden stab of pain in her head cuts her off: she squeezes her eyes shut and massages her forehead with her free hand. "'Cept I didn't do that. I think."

"Yeah, she does that sometimes. Mostly on April first and October thirty-first. And I know the beads you mean." If her eyes were open, she'd see that he's got the grace to look embarrassed. "Well, Bar hands out stuff sometimes whether you do the deed or not. She was probably just contributing to the festivities that way."

Although YT can't see him, and her brain isn't fully up to speed, she can sense that he isn't having a private laugh at her expense. "She helped me out that way a little too much," YT grumbles. "Guess that's kind of my own fault. I was over here, and everyone was making toasts so I asked her to keep the glass full, and that made me lose track of 'zactly how many I had, y'know?" She takes a break from rubbing her forehead so she can tap her fingers on the bartop, to make sure she has the Bar's attention. "Bar, if I ever ask you to do that again, ignore me, 'kay?"

"If it helps at all, I've found that taking aspirin and caffeine at the same time makes the aspirin work a lot better," Ray says. "You might want to try that with your next round of painkillers. It goes a long way whether it's a hangover or being knocked ass over teakettle by a demonic taxicab loose on the streets of Manhattan."

YT just took her aspirin a couple of minutes ago, so she figures chasing it with some caffeine about now will still give her a beneficial effect. "Bar, one espresso, with...wait, did you say demonic taxicab?"

"Yeah," says Ray. "My New York is a little on the weird side, compared to some of the New YOrks represented here. Sorry."

YT's already encountered some pretty weird people in the bar, so this should not have surprised her as much as it did - but since she was out of it and the remark was tossed off so casually, it just kind of jumped her from behind. Speaking of jumping, she did that too, about a foot off her seat, and her head is now pounding like a fire bell. "Ow," she winces, closing her eyes again and pressing the heels of her palms against them. Then she picks up her glass of cold water - which she barely managed to avoid knocking over in all the excitement - and presses its cool surface against her forehead. "Just gimme a couple of seconds," she mutters.

Ray scootches back a little. "Sure thing. I'm really sorry, miss. I didn't- I forget sometimes about how conditions in my world compare to other people's. I'll just, um- I'm gonna be quiet over here, okay?"

Once YT has recovered sufficiently to open her eyes - or at least sort of crack one eyelid open - she looks balefully at him and says, "I'll only forgive you 'cause you told me hangover remedy," she says flatly. "Bar, an espresso with two more aspirin."

A small cup in a saucer materializes, accompanied by two white pills: YT quickly pops the pills in her mouth, then downs the espresso, before she loses the wherewithal to keep her head held up. That done, she crosses her arms on the bar and cradles her head in them, contemplating the idea of going back up to her room. But she doesn't think she can handle the stairs in her present state.

Getting to one of the booths at the periphery of the Bar - with padded seats and blessedly dimmer light - seems manageable, though. "I'm gonna go over there," she grumbles, pointing towards the nearest booth, "and stay there until I stop feeling like crap. Then maybe I'll be up to talking." Mustering her courage, she gets unsteadily to her feet, pushes off from the Bar and wobbles over to the nearest booth, where she collapses onto the cushioned bench and lays her head on the table.

Stomachache Wednesday

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