Quoted By:
Each knock on the door approaches your brain one at a time and prying apart the plates of your skull to slip in. Your skull slams back together, the sound of the knock echoing inside your head. You groan and shift from your bed, bottles clinking. The knocking on the door continues, insistent, like it was prepared to do this all night.
It takes a moment for the red blur in your eyes to focus into the shape of 5:00AM. God, fucking, fuck was someone at your door at 5AM!? You've got work in two hours, a hell of a hangover, your stitches ache and some fucker is at your door, STILL KNOCKING.
> Somewhere in these bottles is enough oblivion to get to the start of the work day
> Wait it out. They have to stop eventually, right?
> Grab and load your crossbow, because apparently armed and in underwear is how you answer doors now.
