The morning after the night before
Jan. 15th, 2008 09:04 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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dizzy_land((Open to anyone who wants to ask Susan what the hell happened yesterday, commiserate, or otherwise chat with the poor woman about the horror of Bad Fanon Day. Pikachu-mun, if there's anything you want me to edit or fix, let me know.))
When Susan woke up and saw the small yellow creature snoozing next to her head on her pillow, she knew, with considerable despair, that it had not been a dream.
Bloody, bloody damn.
It could've been worse, she reflected bleakly. It had been sort of like a girls' slumber party. Lots of giggling and dressing each others' hair and that sort of thing. Only with snogging. At least they hadn't—no, not even thinking that, because going there made one want to gouge one's brain out.
At least her clothes were back to normal. Now let's see, who would she never be able to look in the face again? That girl Shizuka. Cayce. Sirius Black. Possibly Calvin and Hobbes, because as surreal as the fluffy white dress and the singing had been, this was so much worse. And—oh gods, the boy Shaun. Who probably had totally the wrong idea about her and was in for a shock of his own whenever he came by, no doubt.
Well. Nothing for it all but to grit one's teeth and venture forth. And anyway, assuming it was the park messing about again—which was the obvious, but no less painful conclusion—she was certainly not the only humiliated party.
Not that it was much of a consolation.
She dressed (and she'd never been so happy to do up so many buttons) and, leaving the snoozing Pikachu on her pillow, took a deep breath and ventured out into the main receiving area of the First Aid station to face whatever the day would bring.
When Susan woke up and saw the small yellow creature snoozing next to her head on her pillow, she knew, with considerable despair, that it had not been a dream.
Bloody, bloody damn.
It could've been worse, she reflected bleakly. It had been sort of like a girls' slumber party. Lots of giggling and dressing each others' hair and that sort of thing. Only with snogging. At least they hadn't—no, not even thinking that, because going there made one want to gouge one's brain out.
At least her clothes were back to normal. Now let's see, who would she never be able to look in the face again? That girl Shizuka. Cayce. Sirius Black. Possibly Calvin and Hobbes, because as surreal as the fluffy white dress and the singing had been, this was so much worse. And—oh gods, the boy Shaun. Who probably had totally the wrong idea about her and was in for a shock of his own whenever he came by, no doubt.
Well. Nothing for it all but to grit one's teeth and venture forth. And anyway, assuming it was the park messing about again—which was the obvious, but no less painful conclusion—she was certainly not the only humiliated party.
Not that it was much of a consolation.
She dressed (and she'd never been so happy to do up so many buttons) and, leaving the snoozing Pikachu on her pillow, took a deep breath and ventured out into the main receiving area of the First Aid station to face whatever the day would bring.
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