dumbshow | probably not depressing

[He can't believe this is really the movie Knuckle chose. Actually he can, a little, which says something about one or both of them, probably.

Without any protest he holds the remote back out to Knuckle to deal with, at the same time trying to sort of... turn a little... so that he'll stop taking all the chips!! Shoot wants some chips, too, man! He, too, is starving.]

We don't have anything bigger than this. Go get the bag if you're that hungry. [And start this disaster of a film, already.]

Don't be so short! [He laughs, as if he's one to talk really, and sets the remote aside to stand up. Fine, he will go get the bag of chips. After a few stumbles across the room, apparently.

Two arms, and he has more trouble gathering the chips and bag of cookies he wants to bring over than Shoot did. He dumps them onto the table between the couch and the tv, plopping back down and snatching up the remote.

Buy annnnd watch!]

Here we go!

[Ah, there he goes. Shoot turns back to watch him with only some vague concern, because he would actually wobble over to peel Knuckle off the floor if he went down. He'd be on his own for picking up the snacks though.

BUT, time for this no doubt terrible movie. Shoot spends considerably more time carefully picking out which chips he wants to eat first than... watching the movie for about twenty movies of it. After that he leans forward to put the chip bowl on the table, and within the next five minutes he seems to have dozed off.

Quietly. And upright. He nods awake a few times, but not enough to catch most of this (terrible) film. Eventually he'll actually slump sideways onto Knuckle's shoulder, out like a light.

Great choice, buddy.]

[Knuckle, meanwhile, eats like all of the chips that Shoot didn't touch, half the cookies, and cries at the movie even before Shoot falls asleep. People keep dying or becoming vampires and losing their loved ones or dying more.

He does eventually notice that Shoot is asleep on him, and so he'll stop snacking (that's why the cookies are only half finished) and watch quietly, but he does cry a little more and eventually slip into sleep, slumped against the couch with his head leaning against Shoot's.

When he wakes up, the sun feels way too bright, even in this tiny little apartment, and his head is pounding. He groans, trying to sit up and temporarily forgetting that Shoot is slumped against him. But when he feels the weight slip away, he remembers--] Shit! [And leans forward to catch him, grimacing at the way his body rejects every single one of these movements.

Ah. They definitely drank too much.]

[Shoot stirs once or twice, mostly because falling asleep in this position is murder on his neck, but he never manages to move somehow - so when he wakes in the morning, it's at precisely the moment he seems to be falling.

Let the record show, falling even a short distance (so short it shouldn't even qualify as a fall) is much, much worse with a splitting headache and the usual disorientation of just waking up. Christ, he's even still dizzy—]

Wh- [The next noise he makes is a word that has not yet been invented, used to express regret and great pain and swear all at the same time. He can't even bear to sit back up, this is horrible. His mouth feels like he swallowed a bee and a lot of sand, but he manages to speak.]

My head's going to crack open. [GOOD MORNING.]

Tell me about it.

[It's a grumble of a response himself, even if he does feel bad about nearly dropping Shoot there. Sorry buddy. He's a lot more used to hangovers, probably, so he did think this out a little the night before!

He'd thought out ways to help him deal with the hangover, but he never thought to maybe have them drink water or eat along with it or anything helpful to avoid this.

He shifts Shoot carefully to prop him up against the pillows of the couch, looking a little nervous. He's usually dealt with these alone, not while helping someone else!]

Hang on, I'll get us some water.

[Shoot regrets so much, so so much. He's too blindsided by the throbbing in his head to start blaming anybody (but it's not his fault, for sure), and can only come up with a low, breathy kind of noise after he's leaned on the pillows. It's a noise of despair, so much that he's not even embarrassed about being moved around like a delicate- something. His head hurts too much to even think it through.

Water sounds heavenly. He might cry into it.

Ah, but after he closes his eyes to sit here and not look at light, he asks the important questions:]

Did you finish the movie?

...No.

[He's very curt in that reply, grabbing their two signature glasses (they probably each have their own and call that having dishes) and moving to the tap. The main vampire had been given just a fraction of a backstory, one that was supposed to make him seem even more horrible.

But Knuckle had found sympathy in it and cried himself to sleep. Now he was pretty upset-- he never got to see how it ended!

With the glasses full, he walks them over to the couch carefully. His own gets set down and then he carefully passes the other to Shoot with both hands.]

Here.

[Shoot hums, obviously still out of it.] Too bad.

[He can read the summary online... Shoot sits there quietly after that, listening to the sounds of Knuckle getting water. Mercifully not noises horrible enough to worsen his headache, although it seems like he might have fallen back asleep until he cracks an eye open to take the glass.]

Thanks. [He needs a couple seconds to look down at this water before he feels he can drink it without spilling it everywhere, then does; a hesitant sip followed by a much more appreciative gulp.

Ah, now what to say...]

Uh- Are you okay?

[He means Knuckle doesn't have to act not-miserable and take care of him, but hell if he can say that without fumbling it.]

Me?

[No. He's not okay. His head is splitting, the lights hurt his eyes, his throat hurts, his arms are strangely sore, he feels like he might puke at any moment-- But no way in hell is he going to say that!

He picks up his glass of water very carefully.]

I'm fine! You've seen how me and Morel get wasted. This is nothing! [This is horrible.] I'll recover in no time, so you just focus on feeling better! [Kill him. He'll be here, drinking down this water.]

[No, don't take care of him, he can't deal with it... This also all sounds very much like Knuckle trying to claim he wasn't crying over dogs at any given time, so. Well.

Obviously, he is full of it. Shoot looks at him evenly as he drinks more water.]

Knuckle... [stop??] You're being too loud.

[That's- okay, that's true, but he means it in a- in a way that's trying to help? No, this is stupid. He looks at his glass for conversational advice, then back up at Knuckle.]

Don't act cool when you're obviously not fine.

[... "cool"]

["Cool."]

Don't be stupid, idiot! I'm completely fine! I've got more experience, and--

[He chokes a little, spilling a bit of his water into his lap as he leans away from Shoot, covering his mouth with a free hand. Ah, please hold. An entire bag of chips and half a bag of cookies was not a good idea.

But he recovers, after a few seconds, looking grim.]

...And I'm fine, I'm not sick at all, asshole...

[Whoa there. Shoot's eyes widen slightly with definite concern - partly for the upholstery, don't throw up on the only couch - but he doesn't know what he should do...

He sighs, drinking another huge gulp of water. He feels like his skull's about to split like an egg and he's definitely dehydrated, but only eating a handful of chips seems to have done him more favors than Knuckle shoving food into his face so rapidly. Once he's emptied most of his glass of water he sets it on the table and scoots a little closer, peering.

The hangover makes him feel bold, maybe. Or the threat of being sick all over the floor.]

Shut up, you're not fine. [best pal award goes to] You should go to bed.

I'm not going to bed!

[GOD SHOOT. He waves off the man's concern, drinking another huge gulp of water (not a great idea) and letting that set after he gasps. With that out of the way, he sets his glass down and brushes himself off from any water droplets not already soaked in.

Then, he zooms in on Shoot.]

How're ya feeling? Aside from the headache. You sick at all? Hey, I could make some breakfast. I can, no problem!

[No?? Shoot's staring disapprovingly, determinedly right through his terrible headache

and the dizziness

and the dehydration, look— if Knuckle is going to pretend he's not about to puke everywhere, Shoot can pretend this headache isn't as bad as it is. Honestly, he doesn't look much different than usual other than being a few shades paler (somehow) and more tired.]

No. [That's for every one of those things Knuckle just said, in his tone like a scolding parent.] We can have breakfast later. Go to bed!

Stop nagging me, I'm not going to bed!

[He says that with a point at Shoot's chest, leaning closer to emphasize.]

Your yelling's just making it worse, cut it out! [It hurts his head?? He's hurting his own head.]

[Shoot won't back down!! (Well he will if Knuckle looks ready to puke, but not for anything else.) He leans closer himself, although careful not to knock their heads together because someone's head might really crack open then.]

I'm not yelling! [does he, ever] If you go to bed, I won't need to nag— you can get mad at me later!

[Maybe he should just go to bed and save them both the trouble of this argument... but he's pretty sure Knuckle would try to make breakfast and screw it up terribly in this state, so no. Compromise??] I can handle making breakfast.

This is your version of yelling, so cut it out! Like hell!!!

[He leans even closer, and their foreheads bump. Or at least Shoot's forehead will meet the bushy yet firm end of his hair. Somehow it held up after all that sleeping... Was it because he didn't move?]

If you get up, the whole room's gonna spin! If I go to bed, you're gonna go to bed, too! That's that!

[Okay but that doesn't make him loud, Knuckle!! Shoot lets him smush his hair into his forehead without backing down. He's all set to argue some more about how he can get up, he's in better shape than Knuckle, he can handle this - but, oh.

Well if they both go to bed, that does solve the problem of Knuckle stumbling around and probably throwing up somewhere he shouldn't. So-??] That's fine. You going to bed is the whole point.

[A few crucial details may not occur to him in this moment, but oh well. He doesn't move yet, waiting for Knuckle to get up first before he believes this isn't an elaborate (no) fake out!!]

You think you're gonna trick me? Is that it? Huh?? HUH?

[He's all riled up now, Shoot, look what you've done. He pulls back with a scoff, pointing dramatically down the hallway.]

If I go to my bed, you go there too! Meaning, we've gotta be in the same room or you could be doing anything! Those are my conditions!

[Shoot would rather he not be riled up, as he's loud and liable to be sick at any moment if he doesn't hold still!!

But what's this, he has to sit around in Knuckle's room? Does Knuckle even have a chair for him to collapse on, hm...

crucial details]

Then I accept. [And like that, he's leaning away to get up... slowly.] Come on.

[For a while, Knuckle stays frozen in place, staring grimly after his partner. What. He wasn't supposed to agree, he was supposed to find that weird! Or get shy! Or not want to spend any more time with him!! Ah, wait, what is he saying, he's not trying to aim for that--

But still, this... Is it the longest they've spent together outside of a mission or training? Even while sharing an apartment.

He stands up with that overly serious look on his face, leaving his water there on the table as he heads down the hallway.]

Fine! But I'm not sleeping so early. You gotta sleep too, don't go forgetting that! [And, for the record, the only chair in his room has broken. There's a story there somewhere. He's got a desk, a bed, and tons of fighting posters all over his walls. That's about it.]

[Shoot stands there and just looks down at Knuckle while he- freezes, or something, waiting for him to get up. What's his damage now? He lost the stupid argument?? Well that's just too bad. Too bad Shoot is always right!

None of which he says as he follows Knuckle in slightly grim silence. It still hurts to move...]

Are you going to wait? [Don't do that, he'll never actually get to sleep if he's being watched. And, hm, no chair - so, the floor??]

I might!

[He's not telling! He immediately sits at the top of his bed, near the pillows, and leaves his legs over the side. After some hunching there for a moment and holding his head, he squints across at Shoot.]

And what're you doing? Sit down over here, already! [The floor isn't an option?? He's forcing Shoot into this hell, all for nagging.]

[He's honestly wondering if he should sit on the floor, maybe by the door... He glances up from staring at the floor when Knuckle speaks, and only then do the crucial details make themselves available to him.

Over there?

As in-?

If he had still been drunk he would have suddenly sobered up abruptly at that. Since he's not, he can only stand there looking appropriately shocked. No, this isn't- this didn't even occur to him-!! He's rooted to this spot by the door all of a sudden, wholly unable to make himself move even an inch. Hm.]

What?

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