@one-2-d-three | ☩ | Continued!
At some point during the early hours of this morning the duo had staggered their way home. After enduring having been lay in an awkward position, post-drunk and subsequent to having been in a scrap with some bruisers ; It was really no wonder that Murdoc had fallen flat onto the sofa upon stumbling through the door. He was out like a light.
As the afternoon-sun begins to set Murdoc begins to stir. It is far from uncommon for Murdoc to wake at this time.
For 2-D this is highly irregular. Of course 2-D was just as exhausted as the Satanist himself after the events of last night but for him to be out longer than Murdoc? That was very suspicious. So Murdoc decides to shake him once or twice. Maybe this would rekindle his singer? There is no such luck.
Why ain’t he wakin’? Murdoc muses, searching for an answer around the room he notes that there is a discarded packet of painkillers on the floor. Fuck me! He rolls off of the sofa to inspect it. He crumples the packet in his hand, bitterly when his fretting is confirmed to be a reality. He’s taken the whole bloody packet’s worth!
Mismatched-eyes fall onto the blue haired, black eyed man. Concern washes over him. He makes haste towards him.
The green-tinted man hovers over his bandmate, his hand over his lips. He sighed with relief, feeling 2-D’s breath on the palm of his hand. Next he presses an ear to Stu’s chest, ensuring that there were frequent, steady heartbeats.
That’s it. No more pills. Murdoc has already decided this for 2-D.
What is left of the day is filled with worrisome pacing.
Wot if he doesn’t wake up?!
Wot if the lad doesn’t pull through?
Wot if I ‘ave t’call for an ambulance?
He’s had an overdose for fucks sake! __
An’ here I am wanderin’ around in circles, waitin’ for him t’miraculously wake up and whistle a little jolly tune!
