Aver Brand
Mercicle
Knock
The sound echoed through the suite, stumbled over a discarded pile of clothes, and fell flat over an empty bottle on the floor.
Knock knock
A shape underneath the sheets stirred. There was a grumble, then the sound of glass tumbling to the ground as one long, tattooed arm grasped blindly at a nonexistent alarm.
KNOCK KNOCK
“Fuck,” croaked a voice that had smoked one too many cigarra and tipped one too many Whyren’s. “My fucking he—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, this is housekeeping. May we come in?”
Fffffffffffffffffffff— “Give us a minute!”
Aver tugged the sheets off her face and grimaced at the bright light filtering from the balcony. She smacked the taste of Tatooine from her mouth. Considered weighing the poor choices that had culminated in the pounding headache behind her eyes. Reconsidered, and promptly began the indelicate process of extracting herself from the pile of bodies tangling her limbs.
Every movement elicited a groan of discontent from… she didn’t know any of these people, but what else was new? On her way off the mattress, Aver counted two men and three women, and that was just the bed. She almost stomped someone’s face as she set to the mountainous task of finding the fucking door to this fucking p—
“Mrs. Smith, are you there?”
“I said I’m coming!” She shielded her eyes from the (afternoon?) sun and stepped over a pair of twi’leks that had ended up halfway off the couch. The kitchen she only glimpsed – more bottles, several spilled packets of spice, a crushed bag of glitterstim… she could go on but preferred not to.
Baby steps.
Pausing in front of the door, Aver took a moment to slick back her hair (sticky from… well, take a guess) and sloppily do up the two remaining buttons on the shirt she’d pilfered off an unconscious zeltron on the carpet.
Mrs. Smith opened the door and flashed her best smile at the houseke– oh.
“Good morning, officers. How can I help you?”
The sound echoed through the suite, stumbled over a discarded pile of clothes, and fell flat over an empty bottle on the floor.
Knock knock
A shape underneath the sheets stirred. There was a grumble, then the sound of glass tumbling to the ground as one long, tattooed arm grasped blindly at a nonexistent alarm.
KNOCK KNOCK
“Fuck,” croaked a voice that had smoked one too many cigarra and tipped one too many Whyren’s. “My fucking he—”
“Mr. and Mrs. Smith, this is housekeeping. May we come in?”
Fffffffffffffffffffff— “Give us a minute!”
Aver tugged the sheets off her face and grimaced at the bright light filtering from the balcony. She smacked the taste of Tatooine from her mouth. Considered weighing the poor choices that had culminated in the pounding headache behind her eyes. Reconsidered, and promptly began the indelicate process of extracting herself from the pile of bodies tangling her limbs.
Every movement elicited a groan of discontent from… she didn’t know any of these people, but what else was new? On her way off the mattress, Aver counted two men and three women, and that was just the bed. She almost stomped someone’s face as she set to the mountainous task of finding the fucking door to this fucking p—
“Mrs. Smith, are you there?”
“I said I’m coming!” She shielded her eyes from the (afternoon?) sun and stepped over a pair of twi’leks that had ended up halfway off the couch. The kitchen she only glimpsed – more bottles, several spilled packets of spice, a crushed bag of glitterstim… she could go on but preferred not to.
Baby steps.
Pausing in front of the door, Aver took a moment to slick back her hair (sticky from… well, take a guess) and sloppily do up the two remaining buttons on the shirt she’d pilfered off an unconscious zeltron on the carpet.
Mrs. Smith opened the door and flashed her best smile at the houseke– oh.
“Good morning, officers. How can I help you?”
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