Chapter 2: “Get in the handbasket loser, guess where we’re going?”
Chapter 2: “Get in the handbasket loser, guess where we’re going?”
“Oh, gods the tequila. Oh why. WHY,” I groan into my pillow. It doesn’t help. Stupid useless fluffy bedthing. Rolling over onto my back makes it worse, as the sun shines directly onto my bed, and my eyes. One mother of all cries of anguish later, I all but throw myself out of bed. I can just hear Sugarcoat now:
“I told you tequila was a bad idea, Ingido. You always make a fool of yourself at night, and regret everything in the morning.”
Ok, either I’m hallucinating, or she actually did just say that.
“Also, putting your bed directly in the path of the rising sun is a horrible move for someone who drinks as much as you on the occasions you do drink.”
And I know I didn’t just think that. I scramble up from the rather unflattering position I landed in, to see Sugarcoat gracefully wiping her eyes and putting her glasses on. In my bed. “Oh no. We didn’t- you and I did NOT-”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re right. We didn’t. But after all the booze, I couldn’t afford a cab, and was too drunk to teleport home safely. One of the very few sensible things you said or did last night. So you dragged me to your apartment, which is suspiciously close to a lot of bars-”
“I DON’T HAVE A DRINKING PROBLEM.” Oh god. Oh the yelling. Oh why did I do that sweet mother Celestia whyyyyyyyy.
“You shouldn’t yell when you have a hangover. Also, I know you don’t have a drinking problem. You have a lightweight problem. Nopony who goes down after so little alcohol has enough experience drinking it to have a ‘problem’,” she explains, somehow making even the morning after crawl out of bed look graceful. Sunny Flare would spit.
“Ok, ok. So we didn’t bang-”
“Not for lack of trying on your part.” I want to yell at her for interrupting me, but my head is still pounding from the last outburst.
“We. Did not. Have sex. That’s one less nightmare to worry about. Did I do anything significantly job-endingly stupid last night?” I start looking around for my goggles, as they are not on my head as per usual, hoping Sugar doesn’t have a good answer for that.
“No, not really. I’d have told you already if you had, and would most likely continue berating you for it,” she explains as she makes her way to my bathroom. Which I don’t remember telling her the directions to.
Oh thank Celest- “You did do a lot of puking, and hitting on us, and karaoke. Sweet Discord, the karaoke.”
Part of me shrivels and dies inside, but I put on a brave face. “Me? Pffft, nah. I suck at singing! Why would I sing karaoke?”
Her answer echoes out of the open bathroom door. “I dared you to. And I regret every minute of having done so.”
“Gee thanks you’re so nice I hope we stay friends forever.”
She pokes her head out, which is already done up in her trademark ponytails, mouth full of toothbrush. She takes it out long enough to retort: “I know you’re being sarcastic, but so do I.” She doesn’t give me a chance to respond before she disappears and closes the door.
A small smile catches me by surprise. Maybe she’s not so bad. Then another uncomfortable sensation hits me.
“Oh god Sugarcoat open the door I have to pee please merciful Celestia OPEN THE DOOOOOOOOOOOR.”
“No.”
“Why are we friends?!
------------------------------------
“Lemon Zest, if you don’t turn this alarm off RIGHT NOW I’m going to STRANGLE your DAD,” each shouted syllable is like opening a hellmouth in my eardrums, but they’re quickly overshadowed by the horrendous racket pouring out of this stupid fucking alarm clock shaped like a subwoofer.
She pokes her shaggy main out from the kitchen, where she’s making what she calls her Zesty Hangover-Bendover Surprise. Like hell I’m eating it. “That’s not an alarm, Sunny, that’s a subwoofer! Just like, turn the big black dial on top to the left!” she shouts over the music. The fact that she has to shout to be heard in her own home would surprise me, if not for all of the soundproofing I noticed when we first walked in last night.
I desperately flail a hoof over the top of the black box, and scramble any and all of the dials I can reach. The result is an even more horrendous cacophony of pitched, shrieky rock music. Eventually I turn the damn thing off through sheer luck and force of will, then throw myself down onto the couch, where I’d slept last night. “Why?! Why did I let you convince me to crash here instead of just hailing a cab?!”
“Cause your apartment is on the hojillionth floor and you would have died just trying to find the place you were so plastered last night,” she says in her normal, only slightly louder than talking, voice. She’s brought with her what smells like dead everything and waffles. “Ta-da! One Hangover-Bendover Surprise! The fast-acting colon-impacting up-your-ass it’s-time-for-class headache ender for every bender! It’s a must from dawn to dusk for any and all booze-induced mistakes, headaches, and DT shakes from here to the Great Lakes!”
Every word out of her mouth makes me want to tear it off and bite her with it. “Ok,” I say slowly, trying not to maul her, which in itself is a great show of self-control on my part. “But what the fuck is IN IT?!”
“Wheat-based waffles with a huge pile of three-type gravy, potato chips, hay fries, and a double-scoop of deep-fried rocky road ice cream!”
I almost projectile vomit myself out a window as my body rejects everything she just said.
“What.. uh… what types of gravy are in that?” I ask hesitantly, poking a queasy hoof in the general direction of the Artery Destroyer 5000.
“That’s a secret. As in, you really don’t want to know,” she says waggling her eyebrows villainously.
There’s normally now way in hell I would eat anything she said was on that plate, let alone all together, but this headache is so bad I’m willing to try anything. Plus I need to be NOT hungover when we meet up with the girls for lunch, so we can plan how NOT TO GET FIRED. So, shakily, I take a bite.
And another.
And two more.
“Why is this so delicious?!” I sob.
“It’s probably the bacon grease.”
I continue eating what shouldn’t be the tastiest thing I’ve ever had in my life, crying my way through a plate of shamefood. “Wu-hu-why are we frie-he-hends?”
-----------------------------
I drag a still-complaining Indigo out of her apartment, not-so-gently reminding her that we need to come up with a plan to keep our jobs, or we’re all screwed. And not in the fun “meet me in the copy room in twenty minutes” way. Her bitching settles to a dull roar as we eventually reach the outdoor food court to the strip mall we’d all agreed to convene at. Lemon Zest and Sunny Flare are already at a table, the former looking shamelessly proud while the latter looks like she wants to cry her way through a box of chocolates.
Indigo unceremoniously throws herself into a chair, stretching out over the table like she’s spooning it. I sit down like a normal pony, albeit not without raising an eyebrow to Lemon. “What did you do to her?”
She smiles even wider, but before she can respond, Sunny groans through the fabric on the table, to which her face seems thoroughly glued. “Hangover-Bendover Surprise. Oh god the Surprise. Why? Why does it taste so good? I’ve never been more ashamed in my life.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen,” says a familiarly cheery voice behind me. I turn my head in time to see Sour Sweet take her own chair next to me, patting a hoof on Sunny’s back on her other side. “We’ve all lived that secret shame, even me. Did she tell you what’s in the gravy?”
Sunny just sobs louder. That would be a yes. “Even I don’t understand why it’s so good, and I helped her make it,” Indigo groans, raising her head up and making a rather valiant attempt to sit like a normal pony.
Although she probably shouldn’t have said that. “YOU,” Sunny growls, lifting her face enough to glare daggers at Zap. “You did this to me. YOU. I will END YOU.”
Sour Sweet rubs Sunny’s shoulders, the later dropping her head back into the tablecloth. “It’s ok, dear. We’ve all eaten it at least once. Hell, I’ve had it a few times. Only in emergencies, mind you. Like the time I went drinking right before an 8 o’clock appointment with Discord. Trust me, give it time, and you’ll feel much better.
“It’s not the hangover. That feels much better, somehow. It’s the shame. I feel like I need a million showers,” small sobs shake her body.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you let yourself eat something other than that boring health food all the time you wouldn’t be such a drama queen over a little grease, salt and sugar,” Lemon protests. Although I can tell she’s beaming with pride over having finally broken all of us. We’ve all had that morning after cry. Although I’d never admit it.
“At least you didn’t spend the night in Indigo’s bed,” I point out, trying to make her feel better.
Everypony but Indigo looks at me. “You… you didn’t...” Lemon tries to ask, hesitant.
“No, we didn’t ‘bang’.” I accentuate the last word with air quotes, something I do rather sparingly. “But she only has one bed, no couch, and her floor is full of exercise equipment and less-lethal weaponry. I almost tazed myself on accident last night. And that’s not the worst part. Her whole bed smells like gym socks.” I turn to glare at her. “It’s called doing laundry.”
“It’s called suck it up!” she growls back. “At least you didn’t accidentally teleport yourself to an old ex’s house. AGAIN.”
I shudder slightly, insomuch as I let myself. “There is that. Well, now that, I assume, we’re all done feeling sorry for ourselves-” Sunny sniffs loudly- “Can we finally talk about how we’re going to keep ourselves employed? Ideas? Anypony?”
Everyone has little more than blank looks and shrugs to offer. “We could go on vacation,” Lemon Zest suggests. I know I have enough vacay time packed away to be gone the whole week she’s supposed to be here.”
“That wouldn’t be a horrible idea if I hadn’t used all my vacation time going to the worlds shittiest family reunion,” Sour Sweet points out, unhelpfully, “But I DID, so it IS.”
Indigo rolls her eyes. “I was wondering where your ugly half was hiding.”
“It was content for a while watching Sunny Flare weep openly for all the carbs she just ate.”
The aforementioned drama queen lifts her head up, seemingly over her crying jag. “What about sick days? We could say we all got something wicked bad from that bar we went to last night.”
That actually doesn’t sound like a bad plan, till Lemon Zest starts shaking her head. “No can do. Convention pox, remember?”
We all shudder involuntarily as the memory of Lemon Zest coming back from her sci-fi convention with the measles rears its ugly head. “That was a terrible week,” I recall. “And we can’t very well mix-and-match our vacation days and our sick days all at once, they’d get suspicious. It’s be easier to pass off a group vacation or all of us getting sick at the same time, but any combination of the two might raise eyebrows. Especially given the timing.”
“Well,” Sour Sweet grumbles. “Do you have any good ideas, dear?!”
I tap my hoof to my chin. “We could try… being good at our jobs?”
The group exchanges looks for a moment, then bursts out laughing.
“Ha! Hahahahawe are so fired,” Indigo laughs nervously.
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Ah, a Shadowbolts story of them being the best worst ponies. I approve.
I can't decide which girl I like more. Help me!
8108816 The answer is always Sugarcoat.
8108924
It's true. Science proved it.
*mane
This fits far too many people I serve in the military with.
Poor Sunny! I feel your pain.
welcome to the land of minimum wage! (And retail) That conversation is the break room.
Yes, Indigo. You're Fired
Hello? Mr. Update? Are you there?
8108952
8108924
!!!
Sugarcoat is my favorite Shadowbolt too!
8109410
I know joining the military doesn't automatically mean someone gains good work-ethic, but for a job with life and death on the line (regardless of if they are just supporting from far in the rear rather than actually at significant risk to get shot at), that is disturbing...
"I don't have a drinking problem. They sell drinks everywhere. I have a sober problem because they don't sell that anywhere. "
My brother Ed, explaining why AA didn't help.