Other things that get old really fast: Levi's stubborn refusal to heed Charles's network warning, take the advice offered there and the subsequent hell he's been enduring for the past few days as- surprise- everything he's tried to rid himself of the crippling headaches have missed the mark.
He can only sleep so much with his brain throbbing against his skull, can only rely on the adrenaline from training so far as he can manage even that much properly through the pain; it's a testament to his willpower (and yeah, also his stubbornness) that he's waited this long to think of skulking around the lounge, mostly to try and drink it off- hangover be damned- but also maybe, on some level, to find some poor asshole to collapse onto. He can't be the only one with this idea, after all, and he knows he's not the only one with this problem.
And so he shuffles his way there after a solid three hours of trying to get some sleep, bleary-eyed and agitated... Though his spirits are lifted considerably at the sight of the room's only other occupant- Rey, draped like a cloak over one of the seats with an impressive array of empty bottles at her side.
"Beat me to it," he grunts as he makes his way over to the bar to swipe the first bottle he can reach before depositing himself into the seat across from her with a wince. "...It's fucking bright in here."
It isn't, of course, but in this condition even the dim light bouncing off of the glasses is enough to feel like stabs of lightning shooting straight through his eyelids. Enough to illuminate that less than presentable state Levi's in, too: there are flecks of dried blood off to one side of his nose and a matching trail on the back of his hand; his hair- left to grow past his ears- is clearly weighed down by his neglect of its proper care; there's a shadow at his jaw and a distinct ruffled quality to his entire person, like a cat that's been pet the wrong way but has more important things on its mind than fixing the mess.
(His room isn't faring much better- when Levi can't even get his nut up to clean, you know there's a Problem.)
A problem he's trying to fix on his own terms. He's quiet and unmoving for a moment, collecting himself before cracking his bottle open and giving it a slightly skeptical look before downing half of it in one long gulp. It's just wine (he thinks...) but either way he'll probably regret that tomorrow.
He'll worry about it tomorrow, too. He eyes Rey's refuse pile.
no subject
He can only sleep so much with his brain throbbing against his skull, can only rely on the adrenaline from training so far as he can manage even that much properly through the pain; it's a testament to his willpower (and yeah, also his stubbornness) that he's waited this long to think of skulking around the lounge, mostly to try and drink it off- hangover be damned- but also maybe, on some level, to find some poor asshole to collapse onto. He can't be the only one with this idea, after all, and he knows he's not the only one with this problem.
And so he shuffles his way there after a solid three hours of trying to get some sleep, bleary-eyed and agitated... Though his spirits are lifted considerably at the sight of the room's only other occupant- Rey, draped like a cloak over one of the seats with an impressive array of empty bottles at her side.
"Beat me to it," he grunts as he makes his way over to the bar to swipe the first bottle he can reach before depositing himself into the seat across from her with a wince. "...It's fucking bright in here."
It isn't, of course, but in this condition even the dim light bouncing off of the glasses is enough to feel like stabs of lightning shooting straight through his eyelids. Enough to illuminate that less than presentable state Levi's in, too: there are flecks of dried blood off to one side of his nose and a matching trail on the back of his hand; his hair- left to grow past his ears- is clearly weighed down by his neglect of its proper care; there's a shadow at his jaw and a distinct ruffled quality to his entire person, like a cat that's been pet the wrong way but has more important things on its mind than fixing the mess.
(His room isn't faring much better- when Levi can't even get his nut up to clean, you know there's a Problem.)
A problem he's trying to fix on his own terms. He's quiet and unmoving for a moment, collecting himself before cracking his bottle open and giving it a slightly skeptical look before downing half of it in one long gulp. It's just wine (he thinks...) but either way he'll probably regret that tomorrow.
He'll worry about it tomorrow, too. He eyes Rey's refuse pile.
"Is it working?"