This wasn't actually what she would call a "normal" situation, honestly.
On the floor in an unknown location, cat licking her face with total concern (Sadie-baby, you're a dearheart as always!), eyes crusted and head pounding? Pretty typical, really. And -- if she was being frank -- the more she struggled to peer around the room, the less exceptional she found her surroundings. Was it weird to wake up on hard tile, surrounded by a bunch of fucked up looking kids in the middle of what seemed to be the world's shittiest art museum? Sure. But was it the weirdest place she'd ever woken up? Not even by a long-shot.
The lack of beer-breath though -- that was very well out of the ordinary.
She also didn't feel the need to throw up upon taking a glance at one of those bright, bright, devilish, inexcusable lights. Stranger things had happened before, but, for some reason, the clouds over her mind seemed thicker than what they should have been. All things considered.
It likely meant things could have been worse. Her clothes were still on (oddly enough), her limbs seemed functional, and her cat did not look like someone had puked on him (again) -- so why complain? 'Sides, if it meant a free ticket into the dumbest collection of art her frazzled mind had ever attempted to (what she could only guess was) hung-overly decipher, who was she to object?
Though, they probably could have spared a few extra pennies on a better heating system. Seeing as she was dressed casual, well, the cold was almost unbearable.
Nia shivers a little, and pulls her hands close. They are absolutely freezing and she immediately regrets it.
Sadist rubs up against her face, mewling pitifully. A most cunning plan surfaces in her addled mind, and she grabs her pet roughly, warming her fingers with his furry belly.
He makes noises of indignation as she kisses the top of his head. No beasto, though! That would be weird and totally gross.
Cats have those nasty barbed penises and junk anyway. Naaaasty.
Pulling her cat close to her chest, she considers trying to go back to sleep. There doesn't seem to be any kind of tour group walking through the museum (not that she can blame anyone -- it looks pretty objectively awful, and most of those men need to put some damn clothes on because -- dude, not even slightly impressed, sorry), and most of her peers seem out cold. The pounding in her head, the heaviness in her limbs, that damned crusty, dead feeling she had everywhere -- it was too much. What the fuck was it -- five in the morning? There was absolutely no reason for any sane human being to be up a this hour, and her body was revolting against the very thought of moving off the floor.
That would require so, so, so much effort. Like pushing her hands off the floor, and wobbling to her feet, and scooping up Sadist all over again and -- ugh, what were those, men? -- talking to those men over there.
Wait, men? Up? People... up and about?
She could have cursed under her breath. A very ugly expression sets in on her face, and she grumbles into Sadie's fur with a kind of special resignation.
Pretending to be asleep probably wouldn't work too much in her favor. A Trojan was not incompetent in front of strangers, or whatever her dad liked to say during family chats.
Sleep would have to wait. Besides (and she thinks this like she is trying to find a silver lining, not with a bratty scorn) -- why should she want to voluntarily sleep on a cold tile floor anyway? That'd be completely stupid.
She clings onto her desire to do nothing for a few more seconds, but ultimately lets go of her cat and struggles to her feet. There is a brief, tense moment where time stops and she might have almost fallen back on her face and broken her nose (and according to string theory that must have happened in some distant universe -- along with a universe where she had fallen on her ass, fallen on top of one of the girls sleeping near her, fallen on her cat, or fallen back into a huge orgy that totally probably hadn't happened last night (she knew the smell of sex and it was strangely missing)), but she steadies herself, and her cat rubs against her calves and all is well again.
It takes a moment for her to put her best face on, and she can only hope that no one had been paying attention to her before. Big Boyo seems pretty occupied with a truly gross looking painting (like holy shit, ew, rape culture shit much? what the hell is that guy doing to that collection of ladies? they better had just been in some delightful polyfidelic relationship, or else she's gonna start totally judging), Kiddo seems interested in Big Boyo, and I Like His Beard looked even more stupefied than her -- so her incompetence was probably not noted.
After picking up Sadist (can't leave him anywhere!), she steps over the other sleeping bodies with a grace that could have only been practiced, and makes her way over to Kiddo and Big Boyo.
Kiddo's givin' BB the longing look -- the whole awkward social look -- and, well, good girls bring people together, don't they? Ahaha.
"Ey you's two, got a sec?" She smiles, tapping them both on the shoulder in quick succession, winking even faster, turning her back to the wall and facing them both.
She smiles and arches in a way that she hopes is charming. Quickest way to talk with men was to just get in their space, iffin you know what she means, wink wink, faked laughter.
She doesn't wait to be acknowledged.
"Jus' wonderin' over 'ere -- either of you's know where we's is? Or, much more 'portantly, wot 'appened last night? 'Fraid I 'ad a li'le bit too much, haha. Either of you the designated driver or somethin'?"
She slips in a few winks for good measure -- not that many people would notice; as natural as blinks and more playful than anything else.
Her eyes focus on the boy (I still like his beard) still standing in the crowd for a second, and she smiles at him enthusiastically.
"You's too, honey! Mind scootchin' that beard of yours over a minute? I's got no idea either, but maybe iffin's we wrack the ol' noggins 'round together, we's thinks of somethin' plausible, haha!"
kianamaiart
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