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bluezone[ Liquor is awful.
Liquor is the most awful thing he's ever put into his body and this is coming from a teenager that saw it as a personal challenge when Maji Burger ported the Triple Bacon Hashbrown Special Burger with Jalapenos over from America. At least that time his ludicrous internal workings had been able to metabolize all nine of those monstrosities once he stuffed them down his gullet; here, draped back in a seat that had once been part of hovercar, Aomine can feel every single shot sitting and simmering in his stomach in a hot, nauseating soup.
He's had four so far. He's not even sure what it is; the names for every drink are unfamiliar and half of them are obscured by the scarred transparent top of the table, which is itself a relic from a time when it was trendy to have the flickering menus set in them. Most of the bar is that, a hodgepodge of old shit, re-purposed shit, discarded shit, and lighting that attracts both dust and six-winged moths in droves. Aomine is watching the moths in particular, noting that each one is in fact an alien, before remembering that he is the one that is the alien here.
He can't remember why he went along with this. Mainly curiosity, probably, but also a lot of pride; he's not a boy, after all. He can handle all kinds of shit.
...what were they talking about.
.......basketball? ] Barkley, he never got a ring, you know?
He should've won a championship, he had a great game. But not one.
Liquor is the most awful thing he's ever put into his body and this is coming from a teenager that saw it as a personal challenge when Maji Burger ported the Triple Bacon Hashbrown Special Burger with Jalapenos over from America. At least that time his ludicrous internal workings had been able to metabolize all nine of those monstrosities once he stuffed them down his gullet; here, draped back in a seat that had once been part of hovercar, Aomine can feel every single shot sitting and simmering in his stomach in a hot, nauseating soup.
He's had four so far. He's not even sure what it is; the names for every drink are unfamiliar and half of them are obscured by the scarred transparent top of the table, which is itself a relic from a time when it was trendy to have the flickering menus set in them. Most of the bar is that, a hodgepodge of old shit, re-purposed shit, discarded shit, and lighting that attracts both dust and six-winged moths in droves. Aomine is watching the moths in particular, noting that each one is in fact an alien, before remembering that he is the one that is the alien here.
He can't remember why he went along with this. Mainly curiosity, probably, but also a lot of pride; he's not a boy, after all. He can handle all kinds of shit.
...what were they talking about.
.......basketball? ] Barkley, he never got a ring, you know?
He should've won a championship, he had a great game. But not one.
