[Rated M for Sick-Nasty. Reader discretion is advised.]


You drunk.

Why you--just--WHY YOU GOTTA CALL ME OUT LIKE THAT?

Drunk.

Just--IMMEDIATE betrayal, what the hell.

Druuuuuunk.

Fuck you, man.

I mean, he wasn’t wrong. I was splayed out on my side, having found the one place where the water wasn’t frozen stiff, where there wasn’t any wet, freezing snow blanketed on the ground. The trees were clustered tightly enough that the cold winter’s chill hadn’t settled here like it was settling everywhere else; I’d chosen to run a patrol (for some fucking reason) but the cold had bit into our bones a lot harder than we anticipated. We skipped-to-our-fuckin-lou into this hole in the wall, finding some comfort--but that’s when the shit show began because, as I laid my fat-ass down to rest, I found myself sitting on some apples.

Shit started out as a dare; they were old and wrinkly, but the skin wasn’t as dark and damaged as it was supposed to be for apples that were so rotten (I guess it was cold enough to preserve something). Chico had pressed me to take a bite and to be honest I was hungry enough to do it, and I was shocked by the sweetness of it, the subtle kick of something that wasn’t right but added to the flavor anyway. I ate it and found another one and ate that one too and there was a few more and when I went to get up and keep going and doing my duty the world decided to tilt and my head spun with it and I was still on the ground several minutes later.

Drunk.

And I was laughing, hissing through my teeth even though Chico was being a huge pain in my ass about it. An avalanche of stuff fell on my face, making me sputter before I realized it was Chico, opening his cradled-wings with even more apples he had gathered. “Fuck ‘s this?” I looked at him with bleary eyes, “Shit’s--gonna ma’ me colic, you keep fuckin’ around. You gonna--you tryna kill me!” And then I was screaming it, my legs flailing in the air with a siren booming out my throat: “YOU TRYNA KILL MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-EEEE-EEEEEE-EEE CHEEK.”

I made to stand again, and this time I succeeded, even if I was swaying dangerously as I reached for the pond. I drank from the chill water (cuz I was so fuckin thirsty all of a sudden) stood back, took a long piss, and returned to where I was before, tipping over with a huff right back on my side, sprawled out and buzzing pleasantly. “Y’ think,” I slurred at Chico, nosing at another apple and thinking about chewing IT too, “y’think Tembo gon’ fire my ass?” It was a rhetorical, but it still made my snicker like an idiot to imagine anyone finding me like this, “Y’ think they gon’ lookat my ass ‘n think, ‘Oh hell naw, nu-uh, this shit’stoo much ova hot-mess t’ keep fuckin’ around with.” I decided to eat the apple, the stinging juices dripping from my lip as Chico left to find more ammo, his bastard ass having ignored everything I was saying.


"talk"