(no subject)

[gavin62truck]

As much as he tried to convince himself that he wasn't getting sick, Tommy wasn't immune to that weird flu that's been going around after all.

Because now his name isn't Tommy. It's Wayne.

And after several days of not shaving in his flu-ridden delirium, he decided to give himself a mustache.

"Aw, c'mon, Miss Bar," he says, his usually rapid New York City bark replaced with a slow, Midwestern drawl. "You can't deny a fella just one sip of whiskey, now can you?"

A napkin appears. Yes, she can. Because of reasons.

Wayne sighs. Deeply, and sadly. Almost depressive, defeated. His shoulders hunched over, he slouches on a bar stool and lights a cigarette with tremulous fingers.

And yes, he's wearing a straw cowboy hat.



[OOC: Probably one of the last victims of the IMDb flu! Tommy is now Wayne from a movie called Jesus' Son.]

Comments

[gavin62truck]

"Well, that's good. You don't wanna try to conjure up one thing and end up with another. And you'll sleep a lot better, too. Won't know what hit you."

He gives him an encouraging look, because the NyQuil experience really isn't that bad!

[iambetadraconis]

Good or bad it sure is different from what he's known all his life.

Still, he's going to keep the NyQuil in the hopes it'll eventually cure what ails him.

"Thunk I'm beung hut rige nuw."

Yeah it's starting to take effect.

"Thunk I'm felung bedder."

[gavin62truck]

Is it the actual medicinal properties alleviating his symptoms, or the alcohol covering them up? In any case, if it makes Rabastan feel a little less ill, its job is done.

Wayne bobs his head in a deep nod. "See? There ya go. Told'ja it'd work. If you take a couple hits throughout the day, just be sure you're in a comfy spot before you pass out."

[iambetadraconis]

Could be something else. All he feels is a sensation somewhere between his eyebrows.

"Ull do dat," he says, thinking that he'll probably go easy on this stuff.

It's Muggle-made. Who knows what Muggle potions can do?