A Violet Hangover

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A Violet Hangover

Post by Brixtul on Wed Jan 21, 2015 7:11 pm

Brix’tul was already rubbing his temples as he awoke, somewhere, in the fetal position. He felt exhausted, almost groggy. Through barely parted eyelids, he attempted to orient himself.

The first thing that seemed out of place was the colour purple.  

He moved his hand against something smooth, and yes, definitively purple. Struggling to open his eyes more, he moved his arm to prop himself up, which was more difficult than he expected it to be. His elbow rested on a soft, stuffed, circle shaped bed lined with royal purple satin sheets. Whipping his head up to look around, his ears became caught with a floaty sheer voile canopy, also in purple. His hand batted at it defensively, as he was now holding his eyes open wildly, in a sheer panic.

What is this place?! How did I get here? What is with all this purple!?!
NO.
…Where … the fuck… are my pants?!


Brixtul cupped two hands to his junk, sitting up as quickly as he could. He reached behind him with his right hand, and yanked the purple voile over himself, wrapping it around his waist. Even his ears were blushing a bright shade of fuchsia, and he could feel a cold sweat starting on his back. He glanced at the room, which was really more of a loft or ‘indoor balcony’ as he liked to call them. Steps lead down away from the bed to a lower floor, but vision of the floor was obscured by yet even more Voile Curtains in a bright pink.  The only thing up on that floor was the bed and a nightstand. Wait. A night stand with… something on it.

On the ornately decorated nightstand was a simple pristine white parchment, with a quite accurately detailed charcoal sketch of an incredibly nude Brix’tul laying ‘asleep’ on the bed. A lavish signature detailed the bottom right corner in such a way that Brix had no idea who it was supposed to indicate.  He couldn’t help but tilt his head to the side slightly, unable to tear his eyes from the horrific embarrassment. Two thoughts raced around his skull; Just destroy it now… Or roll it up and figure it out later. He chose the latter.

Standing, he began tying a tight knot with the canopy around his waist, he gave a look to make sure he was covered well enough to face whatever was waiting for him down those stairs. He tucked the rolled parchment into his purple draping and inched towards the first step. Each step down was taken with great care for quiet movement as he had to take extra care to not step on his coverings.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, it was easy to see the entirety of the room below where he had just been. It was a simple space with naught but a small fountain, a table with some fruit in a bowl, and one of those dancing brooms from the night before—and his Frostwall tabard, which was hung over the back of a large pink lounge chair, in which sat a frail Sin’dorei, glass in hand.

Brixtul swung his back against the wall, looking startled at the man, but still managed to get his arms up in a somewhat defensive stance. His breathing was heavy as he stared wildly at the stranger. Through a mixture of panic and anger he spoke as low as he could manage.

“Where …be…mah PANTS, Elfeh!”

The man simply giggled, clasping his free hand to his mouth and kicking his feet rhythmically on the lounge chair. Delflorian Estavar was a thin haired albino Sin’dorei well past middle aged. He was wearing his favourite dressing gown in black, with an intricately embroidered dragon on the back, the rest of him was bare.

“Oh honey. You only came here wearing this” He touched the tabard behind him gently. “And if you want it back, you’ll have to take it from me…”  He giggled again, sipping from his glass. “Aww…Don’t make a thing out of it… Just let me watch you go, sweetie.” Delflorian wiggled his fingers in a wave and kissed the air at Brix.

Brixtul blinked, unsure of what to do for a moment.

Nope. New tabards are cheap.

He took a deep breath and walked straight out the front door, chin up and chest out, into the bright light of Silvermoon City.

A passing city guard barely even gave him a double take.

“Portal?”

The guard simply pointed to a building and Brix’tul headed that way with his best serious-business face. He still had the feeling that this wasn’t quite a unique sight. It was both encouraging and discouraging at the same time. Out of sight from most of the general public as he approached the portal, he hung his head in utter defeat.

Days like these were a Brix’tul common place. So much so his mother used to tell everyone “Dat boy laughin’ in da face a’ da Loa since ‘im born! A’course dey gonna make ‘im life 'ell!”

All he was sure of was that his head was throbbing, he was buck-naked save for this pretty sheer cloth, and he wasn’t too sure if he liked Silvermoon City after all. But it still wasn’t the worst day ever.

< ... tbc ...>
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Re: A Violet Hangover

Post by Brixtul on Mon Feb 09, 2015 1:07 am

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Re: A Violet Hangover

Post by minstrelofmyths on Mon Feb 09, 2015 7:53 am

Omg! omg! This is great! Thanks for sharing! <3's - giggle fit-
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Re: A Violet Hangover

Post by Tribeoftrolls on Mon Feb 09, 2015 1:10 pm

ROTFL....why do I hear the "Draw me like one of your french girls." pop into my head. xD POOR BRIX...AHAHA..awesome drawing
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Re: A Violet Hangover

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