𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝.

[affluenzas]

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[bullriding]

i plead the fifth, counselor

[ To the first part. The second part, well. ]

you see the post-it yet?

[ Literally, not metaphorically. He has a vague memory of putting a post-it on her— back? Into her bag? In his quick, blocky writing, all-capitals:

FUTURE SAMMY,
FELL OFF TABLE. RMBR TO TAKE PAINKILLERS.
—R ]

[affluenzas]

( of course she missed the note. because seeing it would have mean doing something aside from laying in bed and groaning which is, unsurprisingly, as far as she's made it today.

any response is delayed for a good 5-10 minutes while she lurches out of bed, thinks briefly about stumbling to the bathroom to vomit, decides she might be alright and instead starts searching for her purse from the night before. unfortunately all she manages to dig up there are a few stray dollar bills, a taser --never leave home without one, kids!-- a nearly empty pack of gum and a single broken cigarette.

her clothes lay in a crumbled heap on the floor, and that's where she finally locates it, on the ground underneath her shirt and a little worse for wear. )

that would explain the giant bruise on my ass, thanks
there had to be a better way to pass that message on
drunk sammy doesn't actually give a shit about future sammy, just fyi

[bullriding]

tell drunk sammy she could be a little kinder to the future, then

i want it on record that i did try
but you are real quick when you decide you want to climb on a table

[ It isn't the guilt that makes him ask, though maybe it might come across that way: ]

want me to bring you anything?

[affluenzas]

trust me, future sammy has had a lot of conversations with drunk sammy, that bitch just never listens.

your semi-weak argument is noted, and i promise not to hold it against you
how were you supposed to know i have catlike reflexes

is this a service you offer to every girl who drunkenly falls around you?