[Jail is, as always, herself: she doesn't even wait for Izunia to offer her the bottle, just flops down on top of the piano, leaning against him and reaching for the bottle.]
[But she does raise her voice to sing along with him, as if in payment for the alcohol she's trying to take. Or maybe just because she wants to, too.]
[He's not the only one who misses them.]
"Raise up your hands and voices, let fill your hearts with pride. Above the churning waters, we stand strong and unified..."
[Her voice is low and husky, strong for all the odd rasp added by her gasmask. It's a good voice for melancholy songs. Even if that's not what this anthem was supposed to be, at first.]
[Joke's on you, terrible spacefuture- Jail's never had good taste in vodka flavors and she's not about to start now. She takes a generous swig of the godawful booze and tries to remember which line they're on.]
"...to shape this rugged land of ours, and build a home for all."
[She chuckles, wearily but still with that hint of trouble her laugh always has.]
Sounds like an invitation to your boyfriend, to me- if it's gonna go down, you know it'll do it when he's got his ass parked on top of it.
[A shrug, uncaring.]
I say we let the fucker crack- none of us can even play the damn thing, anyway. Gimme a good drum solo any day.
I'm wearing thick pants, so that sounds like a you problem. But if you get any in hard to reach places, maybe you oughtta ask mister antique enthusiast for help. Could be a great icebreaker.
[Jail makes no apologies for being her terrible ridiculous self.]
Hey, no tempting the universe. C'mon, you know better. Don't make me be the sensible one here, that shit's just wrong.
[As if to ward off any impending good decisions, she takes another swig of vodka.]
Fuck, this tastes like being depressed in Wisconsin.
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[But she does raise her voice to sing along with him, as if in payment for the alcohol she's trying to take. Or maybe just because she wants to, too.]
[He's not the only one who misses them.]
"Raise up your hands and voices, let fill your hearts with pride. Above the churning waters, we stand strong and unified..."
[Her voice is low and husky, strong for all the odd rasp added by her gasmask. It's a good voice for melancholy songs. Even if that's not what this anthem was supposed to be, at first.]
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With tired hands do toil...
[He lets her take the bottle. It's Cheez-Um vodka. Somehow the atrocious ones became a tradition for this.]
...If we add any more weight, we'll break the piano, you know.
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"...to shape this rugged land of ours, and build a home for all."
[She chuckles, wearily but still with that hint of trouble her laugh always has.]
Sounds like an invitation to your boyfriend, to me- if it's gonna go down, you know it'll do it when he's got his ass parked on top of it.
[A shrug, uncaring.]
I say we let the fucker crack- none of us can even play the damn thing, anyway. Gimme a good drum solo any day.
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[Atrocious, terrible creature. Family. His family.]
I don't think today could get much worse anyway.
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[Jail makes no apologies for being her terrible ridiculous self.]
Hey, no tempting the universe. C'mon, you know better. Don't make me be the sensible one here, that shit's just wrong.
[As if to ward off any impending good decisions, she takes another swig of vodka.]
Fuck, this tastes like being depressed in Wisconsin.
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[Jail he's been sleeping in the guy's room for two to three weeks at this point. They are absolutely doing the do.]
...As opposed to being depressed somewhere else?
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[Another sip, and she nods authoritatively.]
Yep, definitely Wisconsin. It's the undernote of cheese curd that really makes it.