How long had he been on this bender? It was impossible to know. Time no longer made sense.
He remembered being in a very packed nightclub. He remembered the drinking contest. He won, of course. He remembered beating the hell out of the idiots who tried to pick a fight with him, then everything went black, and suddenly he was wandering the streets at night. Did he get thrown out? Or did he just get tired of partying with a bunch of pansies? He’d never know for sure, but his hollow gut told him it was the latter.
Why was he going through all this? What was the point? How many times does he need to hit rock bottom before he realizes there’s nowhere left to go?
“Hey yoooouuuuu!” He was talking to his reflection in the window of a closed shop. “FUUUUCKKKKK YOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUU, ASSSSHHHHHHOOLEEEEEEEEE!”
He may have won the fight earlier, but in the battle that was currently ensuing between gravity and his legs, gravity won.
“Yeah, yuo *hic* tell ‘im!” His head lolled backwards and to the side as he tried to position his back against a nearby wall. Keeping his eyes open was way too tough right now. Maybe a drink will help sort my head out?
“O, trushty flashk, yuo’er alwash ‘der fer meh…” He still, somehow, had a quarter left. Not anymore.
The night was hardly half-way through. Crowds of people still walked the streets, most of them steering clear of the belligerent vagrant currently ruining their good time. He reeked. He was gross to look at. He was an undesirable. Some might have even recognized him as “that drunk idiot that made a fool of himself at the World Tournament” and hated him even more for it. For all they cared, he could rot in his own filth. He hadn't deserved to represent Suna in front of the whole world, in their opinion.
For all he cared, they could all get shit out by a sandworm. Maybe then, as carmot, I’ll have a use for them.
”Tha’s juss, liek, mai oprinion maaaaan....” was the last thing he said before falling deep into a drunken haze.
He remembered being in a very packed nightclub. He remembered the drinking contest. He won, of course. He remembered beating the hell out of the idiots who tried to pick a fight with him, then everything went black, and suddenly he was wandering the streets at night. Did he get thrown out? Or did he just get tired of partying with a bunch of pansies? He’d never know for sure, but his hollow gut told him it was the latter.
Why was he going through all this? What was the point? How many times does he need to hit rock bottom before he realizes there’s nowhere left to go?
“Hey yoooouuuuu!” He was talking to his reflection in the window of a closed shop. “FUUUUCKKKKK YOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUU, ASSSSHHHHHHOOLEEEEEEEEE!”
He may have won the fight earlier, but in the battle that was currently ensuing between gravity and his legs, gravity won.
“Yeah, yuo *hic* tell ‘im!” His head lolled backwards and to the side as he tried to position his back against a nearby wall. Keeping his eyes open was way too tough right now. Maybe a drink will help sort my head out?
“O, trushty flashk, yuo’er alwash ‘der fer meh…” He still, somehow, had a quarter left. Not anymore.
The night was hardly half-way through. Crowds of people still walked the streets, most of them steering clear of the belligerent vagrant currently ruining their good time. He reeked. He was gross to look at. He was an undesirable. Some might have even recognized him as “that drunk idiot that made a fool of himself at the World Tournament” and hated him even more for it. For all they cared, he could rot in his own filth. He hadn't deserved to represent Suna in front of the whole world, in their opinion.
For all he cared, they could all get shit out by a sandworm. Maybe then, as carmot, I’ll have a use for them.
”Tha’s juss, liek, mai oprinion maaaaan....” was the last thing he said before falling deep into a drunken haze.