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Circles of Pain.

Morning.  The sounds of traffic, and of neighbours.  Of…

Norman Osborn

Oh?

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Ouch
Morning.  The sounds of traffic, and of neighbours.  Of life, the city waking.  And the sun, shining summer-bright through uncurtained windows into a still most-unfurnished bedroom.  A broad, muscled form groans, and tries to hide his face against a smaller, curvier one's shoulder.

Wow.  That was a lot of wine last night, huh?
  • Too much. Enh. The smaller one squinches her face against the sunlight, and pulls up a blanket. Or tries to. Her arms don't reach quite as far as they should. "Mmmn?"
    • Ow. Noises. Right in his ear, even. "Nng." Blanket is an excellent plan. Or pillow. Or something. Unfortunately, his body is just as not-quite-right as hers is, and in the attempt to reach such a thing, he probably ends up clocking her in the head with an elbow. Whoops.
      • Ow! There is shoving, and burrowing under the quilts.
        • ;_;!!! Why the shoving?? it's not like it was on purpose. He makes a sound rather like an insulted puppy -- and then like a kicked one, yelping as he loses his half-off-the-bed balance and goes tumbling to the floor.
          • She peers out, red-eyed and half-awake. "I'm never going to one of those things again." Agh, her voice is too high. More burrowing.
            • He sits there on the floor, half-wincing-half-pouting. 'Half' only because Osborns don't ever really pout. "Says --" Ow, ow. Voice way too loud. He tries whispering, with a too-dry throat. "Says you." On to more important things! "Why did you push me?"
              • Whispering's a good idea. Guh. Dehydrated. "You hit me in the head."
                • "I didn't mean to." Leaning against the bedframe, head on the mattress. Mmm, soft. Can he just go back to sleep like this?
                  • Sleeeeepy. "Come back up here."
                    • All the way up there? "But that means standing up." This is not a thing he feels up to doing quite yet, no.
                      • Little mph of sympathy, and sleepy hair-petting. She vaguely remembers that that's supposed to be her (his?) hair. "Never found that ruby."
                        • Ooh. Hair. He leans back into that, humming and letting his eyes slip the rest of the way shut. "Mmmn." Translation: No, we didn't. Maybe we can worry about it later?
                          • But... Mmfh, fine. There are more important concerns. Like getting that sun out of her face and going back to sleep. Not necessarily in that order.
                            • Yeah. That sounds... good. And -- agh, okay, downside to trying to rest while leaned against the bedframe? The poking into your ribs. With much sub-verbal grousing, he drags himself unsteadily upright and pulls himself back into the bed, beside her. And (a bit more carefully this time) he gropes for the blanket again.
                              • She makes a happy noise when he moves between her and the window. Just stay there? Or no... no. Cuddle? That way she gets light-blocking and snuggle.
                                • Cuddling is acceptable. And blanket! Blanket over both their heads, for even more light-blocking goodness. And a sleepy, mumbly something as he curls around her again.
                                  • Sleepy nuzzles. Back to sleeeep. Blessed unconsciousness.
                                    • Zzzzzz.

                                      At least, for a while more. Maybe until, say... lunchtime?
                                      • Lunchtime is about when thirst will drive her out of sleep again. And the sun's moved out of their eyes, so that's an improvement. "Mmmmf." Roughly translated, that means 'are you going to get up first or am I?'
                                        • "Nnnm..." A sleepy snug-nuzzle. And moving, stretching... It seems he's volunteering. So kind of him!
                                          • Mmhmm. Streeetch. Oh, that feels very odd. "Do we have coffee here yet?"
                                            • "I don't remember. Maybe?" They have a coffee-maker, he knows that much. And an espresso machine. And maybe a french press.

                                              ...so, yeah. They probably have coffee, too.
                                              • Okay, time to try an upright position. "I'll make some."
                                                • "Oh, please. N'I can do food, if you're up for it?" Because he's hungry, hangover or no.
                                                  • Ahah, sitting. Standing, even! "S'cold cereal." Which actually sounds kind of good right now.
                                                    • He nods, twisting to follow her lead. "I can do that." Any other time, he'd be thinking about something more elaborate, but even hunger cannot always overcome hung-over malaise.
                                                      • She's not usually this wobbly when hungover. Or.... oh. This green. She catches herself on the doorframe, concentrating on keeping her stomach where it belongs.
                                                        • He stops as well, behind her -- hands on her shoulders, trying to steady her? "Are you alright?"
                                                          • "Just.... very hungover." There is a chair over here, and she is going to sit down. "I'll get the coffee in a moment."
                                                            • "I can make it?" Totally because he's worried about her. Not just because he wants the coffee as soon as possible. >_>
                                                              • She doesn't want the coffee so much any more. Bleh. Milk. Milk might settle her stomach. So she is going to get milk. He can make coffee if he wants.
                                                                • He does want. So he gets to that, thanking the merciful gods that they have at least a few scoops of it already ground. (Running the grinder, right now? Not the most appealing idea.) Soon, the smell of brewing coffee fills the room. And if she has not, he'll move to get bowls and the cereal. Cooperation! \o/
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