taxonomites | 008 ♠ [LOCATION: VARIOUS] ♠ Let's Start A Riot

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008 ♠ [LOCATION: VARIOUS] ♠ Let's Start A Riot

Puck was angrier than he could recall being in a long time. He had settled so well into a familiar groove of apathy that it was hard to shake him loose from it. But certain things had and without acknowledging (or understanding, his mind kept insisting) why, he was taking out his feelings in the most destructive way possible.

Which meant that he'd hatched a dozen bottles of assorted alcohol and started downing them. After about the fourth one, he'd gotten it into his head to take to the street and start venting on whatever was nearby and breakable. Storefront windows, signposts, mailboxes, anything that was conveniently in reach to a very drunken fae was subject to Puck's kicks, punches, and hurled objects. The only thing being thrown around more than impromptu projectiles were obscenities, which were flowing as freely as the liquor.

[ OOC: Basically Puck is just staggering around the city making a complete drunken ass of himself. Do with him what you will! ]

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Quinn was not in a good mood, in fact she was very close to possibly loosing it. That was why she was currently on the way to the choir room, she hated how Rachel Berry it was of her, but singing was probably the only way she could deal with her emotions.

She stopped walking when she saw Puck, and she couldn't help but stare. For a split second she felt jealous; throwing, kicking, punching it actually looked therapeutic. She of course wouldn't allow herself to ever do something like that, she needed to have some sense of control - even if she did want to smash things, or at least scream for taking her friends away from her.

"Having fun?" she finally said, brows raised.

Puck swung around at the voice, his dark eyes shifting like he was trying to focus on Quinn to identify her, but he eventually gave up. A bottle dangled from one hand, his head lolling lazily.

"I'm having," his said, his voice heavily slurred, "a scream."

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, remembering the times Puck had mocked her on the tablet. "Really. Looks like a childish hissy fit to me."

He reminded her way to much of her Puck, back home - which was either really bad or just bad, Quinn wasn't sure which yet.

"That's because you're still sober," he pronounced, which might've had more effect if he hadn't been listing like a sinking ship. "Nobody likes such a tightass girl, blondie."

In a horrible mockery of being a gentleman, he offered her the bottle.

Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly. Last time she had alcohol with a Puck, well...things had not ended in the ways he would have wished them too.

But things were different now, besides Quinn felt herself fraying at the seams. She still wasn't over Beth, and now Sookie, Lex and Kurt were all gone - it was all too much.

"What the hell." Quinn took the bottle from him and took a very long and very large swig.

Puck does a double take at her, and then suddenly erupts into laughter. "That's better!"

He decides to let her have that bottle and slaps his hand onto a nearby hatch, producing another one.

"Let's have a party, blondie."

Her instincts are telling her this is a bad idea, but she's tired of listening to them. She lowers the bottle and eyes him suspiciously for a second, before taking another swig.

"What sort of party did you have in mind?" she asked, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows.

"Do you know," he began, although slurred so heavily it came out more like deeooow to everyone else, "where the phrase 'paint the town red' came from? Is'sa old, old saying. Not like 1800s or some shit like that, but really old. Even older than me."

Puck puts an arm around her shoulder and tries to pull her down to sit with him. "The gnomes, y'see. They all wore such stupid hats but it was the colour of 'em, they were always red. We called 'em Redcaps. I think they hated that."

He's so completely sloshed that he's actually -- partially -- reverting to what might almost be called a good mood.

"But they loved the colour so people would throw around anything they could find... paint, or blood, or anything red when they heard the Redcaps were coming. 'Cause they were nasty little fuckers if they were in a bad mood. But the red would buy 'em off."

It was later than Liz should be out, not that Taxon had proved to be full of any dangers beyond the uncontrollable glitches. Usually she was in bed long before this, but she'd been very restless as of late and had taken to making a trip across Taxon to wander the mall before the natives that ran it shut all the stores and kicked everyone out. She was on her way back to one of the tram stations when she saw him, and she jumped when something smashed against a wall -- a bottle? Liz couldn't tell, but she was going to investigate.

With the same amount of curious recklessness that had got her into several messes with Max, Liz abandoned the path to the station and headed for Puck, instead.

"Hey!" She shouted. "Are you okay?"

The sudden shout threw him off balance, and he staggered and fell into a lamppost. "Ow, fuck," he complained, more out of annoyance than injury.

Liz ran to him, offering a hand to help him up. "Oh God, are you okay?" She hadn't meant to startle him.

He swats her hand away, dismissively. Deciding since he's already halfway to the ground, he drops into a sitting position on the curb.

His bottle has been broken in the stumble; he drinks from it anyway, and ignores the cuts and subsequent small trickle of blood on his mouth.

And she sets her hands on her hips, equal parts worried and annoyed. She wonders what drove him to drink this much and wants to ask if it's even possible for a fairy to get drunk, but of course, that question is withheld due to how public this is. Liz is well versed in the art of secrecy. More than she wants to be.

"You're bleeding."

The answer to the second question must certainly be yes, because his eyes keep crossing and uncrossing and he's definitely not in full control of himself. But the real question is how many bottles it took to get him to this point, because there is a trail of empties following his path across the city.

"Shut the hell up."

River was out, making a futile attempt to out-walk the memory of her glitch and all those what ifs it pulled out like old skeletons. No matter what she did they still rattled.

Someone being a public drunken mess is a welcome distraction, but the fact that this is someone she met while she was still normal almost makes her turn tail and hide. The game she'd played before (how would they treat me if I were still insane) has morphed into something else (how will they treat me now).

In the end, distraction wins out, and River makes her way toward him quietly.

"Are you the control group?"

Puck almost doesn't hear her at first, and then peers at River while wobbling lopsidedly. "Am I wha--?" he slurs.

That appears to be a very high level of drunk. Somehow, she feels that makes them even.

"Control group. For the forty." River looks to his most recent bottle with deliberate meaning. "To test the amnesia hypothesis."

Somewhere in his brain, that registers. "Ohhhh," he says, like a light bulb has just come on -- though it'd be a very dim, very alcohol-clouded variety of light at the moment. "You're that one."

He offers her the bottle... or tries, he's seeing her in about three places, and he picks the wrong one but it's in her general direction.

"Come here."

She can see it, shadowed shining something, some little spark of recognition of her (one of her) in one shape or another. Slowly, she steps to the side into the vision he picked and walks forward.

"Not that one. Remembered the forgot," and River primly leans in to sniff at the contents of his bottle.

"Well you're damn well close enough," Puck complains, thinking that she means she knows he's seeing in triplicate.

"Also remm-- rememem-- rebem-- fuck it all, having your memories sucks ass. I want to forget."

River is going to take that with a liberal interpretation and not correct him, tiny step to coming away from this unscathed and unscrutinized.

"Only damaging motor and inhibitory functions."

A beat, and she blinks at him. "Poisoning will come first."

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008 ♠ [LOCATION: VARIOUS] ♠ Let's Start A Riot

blame it on the goose, got you feeling loose...

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[ location: speares ]

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location (shelley): we watched him drink his pain away a little at a time;

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