slayer_fray: (Mel/Lilly)
It's early morning in suite 132, and by rights no normal person should be awake.

However, no normal person would have drunk their way through a lake of sugary alcopops and stayed up all night on a booze-enhanced sugar high, working out strip routines.

And no normal person would encourage their roommate in this behaviour buy downing a large quantity of Tequila and taking notes. Mel may not be a stripper, but she's seen enough of the wrong sort of tavs to make a few suggestions.

"Sleep when I'm dead" doesn't apply in 132, clearly.
slayer_fray: (waffles)
The sun shines through the windows of Suite 134, unhindered by the usual heavy drapes. This is because the drapes were never shut last night.

The morning light catches in the raindrops on the window pane, and casts a number of pretty coloured spots over the carpet.

The four occupants of the suite are all dressed, and all out of bed. Unfortunately, none of them are awake, as evidenced by the pile of bodies heaped on the couch. Blue hair rests on orange cotton, and someone else has cashed in a permission slip to use a pair of breasts as a pillow. PlayStation 2 controllers dangle uselessly from the boys' hands, and a betutued Stampy snores contentedly on Indy's lap.

From the first person perspective, the TV screen displays the hands and M1-Garand of a dead British soldier laying across the cobblestones of some anonymous European town, with several pairs of jack boots stalking warily - or perhaps triumphantly - around the corpse. The telegraph-style message on the bottom left of the screen reads: Missing in Action

All is quiet.
slayer_fray: (waffles)
It's morning in suite 134, as evidenced merely by the glow of light from under the drapes, and the familiar sight of a girl with blue and purple hair chugging happily from the carton of juice by the fridge.

In fact, the only thing unusual is the fact that she's fully dressed.

This must be because she didn't spend the night here, and is only here for the juice.
slayer_fray: (waffles)
Morning. Just like any morning. Well, just like yesterday morning. Which was a particularly wonderful morning, in Mel's opinion.

And wonderful mornings make one want to enjoy the simple things that make them so good.

Hot showers, for instance. When you've been washing under torn pipes for the past month, then really enjoyable long hot showers become one of the best things in the universe.

This morning, Mel showered until the water ran cold, just because she can. The fruity scented steam from that luxury still seeps out of the guest bathroom as she sits on the floor, a towel that might once have been wrapped around her now lying is a neglected heap around her waist and legs. A content Stampy snuggles into her lap as both girls are absolutely transfixed by twentieth century cartoons.
slayer_fray: (Default)
Even if the bachelors living in 134 bothered to lock their door, and even if Mel hadn't procured herself a key, she'd still be letting herself in whenever she felt like it.

Today she's sporting a baby doll T-shirt graced with a picture of the union flag and the phrase "Good girls go to Heaven - bad girls go to London," and has a large basket of apples under one arm as she pushes the door open, when she is greeted by an overly enthusiastic Stampy.

"Hey bignose," she says fondly in a stage whisper. "Daddies still asleep, huh? Shush then, don't wake them."

She carries the basket into the ktichen, followed by the bouncing elephant who can barely suppress her joy at attention this early. Mel squats down, sets the basket on the floor and pulls out an apple.

"Here ya go," she says, slicing it on her sacred Slayer weapon and feeding the grateful elephant chunks. "Think this'll please that stubborn wizard?"

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