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muses_w_remotes | 9.1. Music & Lyrics quote
Jan. 19th, 2009 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
texas33forever9.1. "This is horrible Alex, this is very bad! Unless you're happy about this in which case I couldn't be more pleased for you... Should we do pros and cons?"
| Music & Lyrics
[Follows THIS and THIS]
It was a vague coherence that alerted Tim to a banging drilling into his brain beyond the fog of last night’s six pack… or maybe it was more like five six packs. Once he realised the noise was there, he groaned from where his face was smashed into the cushion of the sofa, arm hanging limply off the side. Now that his consciousness was dragged back, the light streaming across his face just made his already pounding head ache like a bitch. What the hell was that banging? It sounded like there were elephants tap-dancing on his roof… or maybe that was on his brain?
He cracked an eye open from under the curtain of messy dark hair that was flopping in his face and then squeezed it shut again. Talk about Hangover Central. He really didn’t want to move and wasn’t sure he could move without puking. The house looked like a bomb hit it with empty beer cans, pizza boxes, and other takeout remnants lying all around the joint. Clothes were strewn everywhere and had been there for an indefinite period of time, Tim favouring the easier option of just buying new shirts rather than washing the ones he already owned. With Billy still in Puerto Rico on his honeymoon, Tim was living his idea of the unsupervised highlife.
And then the banging was back and he realised it was coming from the front door. What the fuck? Who knocked on doors this early in the morning? It couldn’t be more than five am. He dragged his eye open again and squinted to try and see the clock on the oven. Or 12.02pm. Close enough. He rolled onto his side and his hungover brain misjudged the distance, sending him toppling to the floor with a thump. He mumbled a curse and crawled a few paces until he had a bit of a clear path to attempt to get into a standing position. The knocks sounded again and he moaned. “M’coming…” he muttered, though not nearly loud enough for the intruder to hear. “Keep yer fuckin’ pants on… goddamnit…”
Holy hell, his head was absolutely thumping and his stomach was sloshing around with an uncomfortable nausea. Not to mention the fact he had no shirt on and only a pair of daggy boxers, hair sticking out every which way. Plus he really needed a piss. He kicked a couple of empty cans out of his path followed by an empty six pack box and shuffled over to the door, rubbing groggily at his face. He yanked the door open, scrunching his eyes closed in the bright light. “Yeh?” he greeted them in a grunt. He was never a fan of airs and graces.
“Are you Tim? It’s just… the football sign out the front said Tim Riggins and…”
Tim opened his eyes again just enough to try and see who it was. He didn’t recognise the voice, but when he was hungover, he rarely remembered his own name a lot of the time, so that wasn’t really a scale for analysis. “S’me,” he confirmed and blinked woozily at the woman in the grey suit. “I ain’t ownin’ nothin', dude. Bills are all paid up. I got receipts an’ all.” But then he smirked. She was hot after all. Pretty damn fine, in fact.
“Uh… no, I… I’m looking for Jason Street. I was hoping you could help me. I remember your name. He talks about you a lot and I was just hoping…” JC trailed off, shielding her eyes from the sun as she sighed, shoulder slumping a little. “I really need to talk to him and I was hoping you could tell me where he lives.”
This time Tim’s eyes widened and he blinked. Purple Panties. Wow. She really was a stunner in a nice neat little package. Six's scoring ability hadn't faltered in the slightest. “He ain’t livin’ here, lady. He didn’t give you his address?”
JC faltered, gripping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “No, but he doesn’t know I’m coming. I just really need to see him,” she insisted softly, not even really noticing the state Tim was in. “Please?”
Tim let out a rough breath and fisted his fingers through his messy hair. He was supposed to make a potentially life-changing decision for Six amidst a raging hangover and the little brain power he had left being zapped up on will not to piss himself? This blew. This really was unfair shit of epic proportions. But when all else fails…
He stepped aside, gesturing inside. “Wanna beer?”
JC Stanton is![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
taste4freedom and written here by her mun. Jason Street [itwontstopme] referenced with permission.
Word Count | 782
| Music & Lyrics
[Follows THIS and THIS]
It was a vague coherence that alerted Tim to a banging drilling into his brain beyond the fog of last night’s six pack… or maybe it was more like five six packs. Once he realised the noise was there, he groaned from where his face was smashed into the cushion of the sofa, arm hanging limply off the side. Now that his consciousness was dragged back, the light streaming across his face just made his already pounding head ache like a bitch. What the hell was that banging? It sounded like there were elephants tap-dancing on his roof… or maybe that was on his brain?
He cracked an eye open from under the curtain of messy dark hair that was flopping in his face and then squeezed it shut again. Talk about Hangover Central. He really didn’t want to move and wasn’t sure he could move without puking. The house looked like a bomb hit it with empty beer cans, pizza boxes, and other takeout remnants lying all around the joint. Clothes were strewn everywhere and had been there for an indefinite period of time, Tim favouring the easier option of just buying new shirts rather than washing the ones he already owned. With Billy still in Puerto Rico on his honeymoon, Tim was living his idea of the unsupervised highlife.
And then the banging was back and he realised it was coming from the front door. What the fuck? Who knocked on doors this early in the morning? It couldn’t be more than five am. He dragged his eye open again and squinted to try and see the clock on the oven. Or 12.02pm. Close enough. He rolled onto his side and his hungover brain misjudged the distance, sending him toppling to the floor with a thump. He mumbled a curse and crawled a few paces until he had a bit of a clear path to attempt to get into a standing position. The knocks sounded again and he moaned. “M’coming…” he muttered, though not nearly loud enough for the intruder to hear. “Keep yer fuckin’ pants on… goddamnit…”
Holy hell, his head was absolutely thumping and his stomach was sloshing around with an uncomfortable nausea. Not to mention the fact he had no shirt on and only a pair of daggy boxers, hair sticking out every which way. Plus he really needed a piss. He kicked a couple of empty cans out of his path followed by an empty six pack box and shuffled over to the door, rubbing groggily at his face. He yanked the door open, scrunching his eyes closed in the bright light. “Yeh?” he greeted them in a grunt. He was never a fan of airs and graces.
“Are you Tim? It’s just… the football sign out the front said Tim Riggins and…”
Tim opened his eyes again just enough to try and see who it was. He didn’t recognise the voice, but when he was hungover, he rarely remembered his own name a lot of the time, so that wasn’t really a scale for analysis. “S’me,” he confirmed and blinked woozily at the woman in the grey suit. “I ain’t ownin’ nothin', dude. Bills are all paid up. I got receipts an’ all.” But then he smirked. She was hot after all. Pretty damn fine, in fact.
“Uh… no, I… I’m looking for Jason Street. I was hoping you could help me. I remember your name. He talks about you a lot and I was just hoping…” JC trailed off, shielding her eyes from the sun as she sighed, shoulder slumping a little. “I really need to talk to him and I was hoping you could tell me where he lives.”
This time Tim’s eyes widened and he blinked. Purple Panties. Wow. She really was a stunner in a nice neat little package. Six's scoring ability hadn't faltered in the slightest. “He ain’t livin’ here, lady. He didn’t give you his address?”
JC faltered, gripping the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “No, but he doesn’t know I’m coming. I just really need to see him,” she insisted softly, not even really noticing the state Tim was in. “Please?”
Tim let out a rough breath and fisted his fingers through his messy hair. He was supposed to make a potentially life-changing decision for Six amidst a raging hangover and the little brain power he had left being zapped up on will not to piss himself? This blew. This really was unfair shit of epic proportions. But when all else fails…
He stepped aside, gesturing inside. “Wanna beer?”
JC Stanton is
taste4freedom and written here by her mun. Jason Street [itwontstopme] referenced with permission.Word Count | 782
