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The Morning After	By : Anesor Category: +M through R > Neverwinter Nights Views: 1803 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Neverwinter Nights nor the characters from the game, and I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 1-The Morning After
- 1
The originals of these characters are not mine, and they might either run screaming into the night or plan violence if they saw this, so don't show them, okay? This is a parody, in case you missed the story category. Language and other stuff warning, just to be safe from all the nannies...

--- x x ---

Maybe I'd celebrated Mardi Gras a little too much this year, because I could smell the beer and my face hurt, all smooshed up against something. Not that it had been that wild a party, but that tumbler of a butterball, or three, or... whatever, may have been a little too much. Whatever, my face was against something that wasn't skin, a pillow, or even clothing of some kind.

Some kind of ringing just kept going on and on and on and I was afraid to move my head since I didn't know if there was a trashcan or an empty Big Gulp cup if I was going to be sick.

Finally the ringing faded, and I carefully lifted my head to find out what I was resting on this year. I was probably getting too old to do this, as last year I woke up with my face on my keyboard while the MMO client tried to figure out what the command 'gj gg ft gij5 alt-g gf' did. Other years it was the popcorn and pretzels my face rested on when the better food and I ran out.

This time it felt like rough wood, with scars in the wood as well as wet and sticky spots in the path of my fingers. Well, at least my nose was still working, even if the jury was still out on everything else.

Lifting my head a bit higher with some effort in the dimness, I was glad I wasn't in my friend's apartment living room, with the three big windows. I must have gotten up to that tiny upstairs bedroom that had no windows.

Looking around, I groaned when the light hit my eyes, even before I realized I wasn't at my friends' place anymore. It looked like a cheap tavern, in some kind of third world place, with no sports TVs or pictures of babes preening with the local sports team.

“Now where'd you come from?” some guy's voice wondered in a young tenor shout.

Both of my hands went to my ears like magnets, as I turned to look at the speaker and beg for pity.

He looked hungover, too, and had an armload of red and white checked tablecovers to cover over the table... tables. Clothing greasy, he seemed to have a tick. But what really surprised me was his ears, longer and more prominent than Spock's. They were good appliances, and I wondered how much he'd spent on 'em, or if it was surgery or parents training the growth of his ears like necks or feet back in time. Some people were sick.

In waltzes this blond chick humming at the top of her lungs, some drinking song that would go on until the end of time, with my bad luck.

I spat at the waitress, “Shut up, get me a beer, a Bud Light.”

She looked at me, and I wondered if she was drunk too.

A door swung open and this guy in tight leather with guy-liner and scarves in bright colors prances in, “No, no, no. The tables must be arranged differently, so more of the flower vases will catch the afternoon sun and I have the very best vantage point for using natural fey shui flow of energies to shoot people as they get tizzled.” He detached a pruning shears from the front of his chest and started cutting and swapping the flowers around from table to table, critically adjusting each flower while his Malamute peed on the huge fireplace.

The chick rolled her eyes at the smell and said, “We got ale, cheap ale, and cheap wine. You can be a big tipper, I'm trying to pay back taxes on the family farm.”

Reaching for some money, I couldn't find any in any of my pockets, despite checking several times.

“Umm, nevermind. Forgot my plastic,” I mumbled as she flounced away.

“Which one be da' plastic? Why don chu have any real money?” this dark complexioned woman in a devil costume with henna'd hair said to the room. She had enough metal and colored necklaces for a long parade's worth of throwing, gold, silver, chrome, white, yellow, green, and half with little tokens or even huge pendants on them. She was munching on a greasy doughnut with one hand and had the sleeve of plastic and photos in her other... Her makeup job was amazing.

My head was ringing again, and I carefully laid my head on the table again, and said through the ringing, “Could I have my things back? They're not worth anything to you.”

I didn't get an answer, but a fair haired child with a toy instrument dashed into the room, singing about some dude named Wendel, in a high voice that went through my skull.

Someone else threw a knife at the kid and the barkeep threatened, “The boss is gonna bar you again if you don't stop with that crap...”

The song changed after only a frightened hiccup, into:

Did you write the fuck of wuv,

And do you have faith in gods above,

If the temple tells you so?...

The whiny music was making my head spin, and I grabbed a beer mug still left on the next table and drained it. It must have been the cheap drink as I clutched my stomach while the song kept going...

Well, I know that you're in wuv with dem,

`Cause I saw you dancin' on the bar.

You both kicked off your boots.

I laugh at them piles of those boots.

I was a lonely young gnomish bard,

With a pink mandolin and a prick real hard,

But I knew I was out of luck,

The day the m....

A boot hit him in the head, and he got quieter, preventing my head from exploding.

Floating into the room was a woman with chalky, shriveled white skin, black eyes, strange piercings on her face, and wrapped in layers of black gauze.

In a dead flat voice, she intoned, “Know that the bitterest tears shed over graves are for words unsaid and deeds left undone...” After ducking a mug with liquid sloshing out, she looked around in an expectant pause and said clearly, still in that monotone, “Know that I am more goth than thou could ever hope to be...”

Then she went over into a dark corner to study the tip of a long knife, from the point end, while everyone else ignored her.

Heavier treads of steps came down a set of stairs, and the mood of the room got still. Even the musician started doing only instrumental music, while the waitress went over to the bottom of the steps to speak to this big man all in this tailored black outfit with a much smaller, overmuscled guy guarding him.

After a moment while the waitress glanced at me a couple times as they spoke, she scurried to the bar. The barkeeper had already disappeared.

The man in black ordered, “Sing to me, Mister C.”

Quickly, the musician started some song about blue skies, and the big guy stopped and snapped his fingers with annoyance. With a gulp, the kid started a faster number about enticing Lady Luck tonight.

As the guy got closer and looked down at me while I sat at the table, “I understand you are here partaking of the ambiance of this fine establishment, without proffering your custom. I'm your pal, here, and advise you very strongly to consider your options, before you fail to be able to leave here on your own two legs.”

“I don't have any money, that girl has my things,” I protested pointing at the woman with all the necklaces.

His eyes like a winter's blue snowbank, he told me, “That is too bad. If you would, my friend...”

An iron grip pressed my arm to the table and the pain of my fingers being broken made me pass out as I screamed...

--- x x ---

A/N: Thanks to my beta reader, who's been kind enough find typos that come from my occasional lysdexia when typing. I hope their keyboard and screen will dry off properly after their drink came out as an aerosol, as replacing them just isn't possible. Any typos that remain are not intentional... Have fun with the puns and arcane cultural references! Reviews to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.
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The Morning After