The bad-ass adventures of two losers under the great big Arceusdamn ball of fire.
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"Dan?"
"Yeah?"
"I think we're gonna die out here."
"Yeah."
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HANGOVER: Lisa: The Timeless OST - Allsides (OST Version)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2CdtYefRxPcWhen early SUNROSE appears with rosy fingers and pokes you right in the eye...
You wake up with a burgeoning headache and the most peculiar sense of déjà vu.
A warm sunbeam is shining through the cheap plastic window blinds and directly onto your face, teasing you like a beautiful woman away from the pleasant noise of your dreams. You grimace and shut your eyes tighter.
Perhaps if you keep your eyes closed for a little while longer, the unpleasant morning sun will vanish and the comfortable duskiness of the room will return to engulf you once more, just as a shroud of leaves is draped around a Swadloon. Your room, a fortress against all that is sadness and misery. That sounds good.
You turn to your side and pull your blanket over your head. You start to feel better, but not much.
Then there is a sound. A real sensation, drawing you further away from your ideal state. Damn.
Someone is moving around the room at an agitated pace. There's only one other person who lives with you. And now even through this haze of blood alcohol, you sense the faintest tendrils of that familiar psychic presence tapping insistently at the eggshell-thin walls of your mind.
And most unwisely, you tap back.
You know <span class="mu-s">Garcian Smith</span> as a a lot of things. He's a liar. He's a scoundrel. He's an asshole. He's a knight of the body. He's your shadow. He is your best friend and your brother. You'd say a lot more about him but the most important thing you can say right now is that <span class="mu-b">you both drank way too much last night.</span>
<Hey Dan.> His mental "voice" echoes dully through your collective inebriated haze.
<Hey Garcian,> you "say." You hiss in regret for responding with thought; it's too late now. With Garcian unable to regulate his telepathic connection, your headache starts to explode behind your eyes as you try to block out the impressions of things you really don't want to see/hear/feel/think about at all. An intoxication psychic feedback loop. All you can get out of the stream of <span class="mu-i">foreign-garbage-thought-feedback-noise</span> is
<span class="mu-i">Pulse Landlord Dark Find Search Run Hide
Trash Hate Regret Hound Smoke Scum Fear
Backup Seek Urgent Candy Bark Terror Impulse
Trainer Look Wake Need Grab Touch Vomit</span>
You groan. It's impossible to make sense of the ocean of words forming noise in your head. You terminate the psychic connection and wrap yourself up tighter. The day may have just started but you're more pajama than man at this point.
Goodnight again, SUNROSE. You saw its orange light for just a moment, maybe you'll see it again tomorrow...
