DATE: August 30, 2001 CAST: Basil,Terry,Walter Terry's Apartment A small, inelegant room of cardboard. Although it's kept relatively clean, its previous occupants must have had less than good hygiene, judging from the various faded stains on the walls and floor. There's very little furniture in sight, apart from shelves made from wafer thin cardboard and a small, equally thin cardboard box for storage. The stillness of the room is broken as the door to the hall swings open, revealing the form of a grasshopper. Terry must have left the apartment much earlier that morning, for it still isn't very late. She treads into the room, stopping just beyond the doorway to glimpse at the Kleenex piles on the floor. The sounds of Terry's entrance to her apartment manage to make their way from the room, to the antennae and into the barely cognizant mind of Basil. A soft groan is emitted as he slowly lifts his head to see the blurry form standing above him. Considering the size, it must be their host. "Oh..." Is managed out, then after a bit of silence, a bit more is enunciated. "Oh. Hi Terry. What happened? And why is my head pounding?" A soft whisper is quickly attained as the anguished ant finds his own voice causing pain. One of the tissue piles stirs. A pair of bedraggled antennae and tired, bloodshot eyes peeks into view as Walter struggles upright. The ant's mouth is opened to ask a question of his own, but instead a cringe of agony quivers its way into his expression, a hand clutching at his pounding head. Feels like something's pounding his brains out with a sledgehammer. A faint groan is released as he crumples back down into the Kleenex. Terry studies the ants from askance, an austere look occupying her visage. If she is at all moved by their obvious torment, she doesn't show it. "It's called a hangover," she informs Basil, just barely loud enough to be heard -- anything too strident may exacerbate their respective headaches. "Your body's less than subtle way of telling you that you've had far too much to drink." A pile of tissue is worked together to form a makeshift pillow, allowing Basil to rest his throbbing head and still be able to keep his attention on Terry. A slow and painful process to say the least. "Uh... What do you mean 'too much to drink'?" The concept doesn't make any sense. Basil's had large amounts to drink, but that only caused him cramps in his stomach, not a pain in his head. "How can drinking a lot of; what was it that we drank last night anyway. I hardly remember." A barely perceptibly shift of the eyes is made as a thought slowly germinates. "I don't actually remember a *whole lot* of last night." Walter closes his eyes, shutting out the mundane shapes and colors that have suddenly become a bizarre form of torture. His aching brain doesn't entirely register everything Terry and Basil are saying. "Enzo poisoned us, didn't he," he mutters. His voice has adopted a dragging, cloggy quality. "We've been poisoned, that's what it is. Just as well... goodbye, cruel world." He slumps into his tissue resignedly. Terry's stern expression relents slightly as it becomes evident that the ants truly _didn't_ know what they were consuming last night. And then annoyance become evident as that name is uttered -- Enzo. Should have known. She listens to Walter's conclusion about being poisoned with a slight rolling of her eyes. "No, you haven't been poisoned. You've just drunk too much alcohol. Alcohol does that. I suggest you stay away from it from now on... I won't tolerate having you stagger in drunk." The word 'poisoned' is definitely heard, causing Basil to panic, and his heart to race, then his stomach to lurch, not knowing it being the alcohol that is causing his stomach to make flip-flops. But upon hearing Terry's explanation, he manages to calm down and keep his stomach in check. "Alcohol... Enzo..." The words enter Basil's mind and become synonymous with pain and torture. "That guy sure does have a thing against us." An angered expression is given, and the reverberation of the sound of his voice makes the throbbing several fold more than he wants to express. "Ouch!" is exclaimed as he puts his hand to his antennae and the sides of his head. "Maybe death would be less painful." Rats. Death would certainly be more merciful, at this point. Especially as Basil raises his voice. Walter likewise recoils in pain as the sound travels through his antennae and drills into his head. Never before has the sensation of sound been so tactile, so... excruciating. "Not so loud," he whispers, clutching his head and stifling a groan. "You're both pretty much incapacitated for the day," Terry informs them. "Take it slow, and be sure to eat and drink something--*no* alcohol." She heaves a sigh, shaking her head with all the gravity of a martyr. "Be more wary, and don't do this again." Basil lets out a stifled groan/sigh combination as he winces and clamps his eyes shut. All of the elements are taxing his senses. A "Sorry Walter." is barely emitted as he is all too enthused by the idea of keeping his anguish under control. "Yeah, if that'll work, I'll be sure to eat something, assuming my head can take all of the chewing." It's now gotten to the point that anything besides thinking, and maybe even that causes pain. A nod is then given as Terry advises against making a return to such an excruciating state. "How can anyone *do* this to themselves?" Is choked out in a barely perceptible whisper, as the idea of anyone choosing to do this *voluntarily* encroaches upon his thoughts. Walter doesn't respond, and simply burrows deeper into the Kleenex, to block out all the sights, sounds, and virtually everything else, ineffectually insulating himself from the world. "..." Terry smirks, faintly. "You'd be surprised to know how many people like getting themselves smashed. They're hooked on it." She pauses, folding her arms thoughtfully. "Although, some have the sense to learn and respect their limitations." "Well, I'll be sure to have myself flattened before doing this again." Is sarcastically but to a certain point understandably commented. Basil rolls gently onto his back and as he looks up onto the ceiling, a exhale is given. "I'm sorry we woke you last night.. I'm sorry for getting 'drunk'... I'm sorry for getting into this mess, and I'm sorry for meeting Holly in the first place." Odd how such pain can induce such feelings of absolution. It's so hard for Basil to think clearly, he really hasn't fully comprehended what he's just apologized for. "And I'm sorry I was born," Walter puts in from his own depths of misery--not to mention layers of Kleenex. The currently invisible ant rolls over, emitting a grunt as the motion aggravates his headache and rewards him with spots dancing in front of his eyes. Terry's expression twitches with the effort to not laugh outright. Although it's a remainder of a grasshopper's impulse, perhaps, it's surely not right to derive amusement from another creature's pain, especially when they're in the throes of penitence. She shoves the instinct away and preserves an impartial expression. "Never mind that. Just worry about recuperating for now." Well, this certainly has been a learning lesson, but recuperation seems the ideal thing for now. "Food huh?" Is weakly mentioned as the pain ridden ant rolls to his side and very slowly manages to his knees and then his feet. "Uh!" Is called out he soon feels the need to drop to the ground, still feeling rather on the dizzy side. "Maybe when the room stops swaying." Which isn't likely to subside any time soon. "Any idea how long this pain lasts, typically?" Is inquired, though in Basil's mind the answer might as well be days considering how unrelenting the torture is. "The effects usually clear up within twenty-four hours," comes the response. Terry throws a glance at the cardboard box, used for storing various foodstuffs. "I'd recommend fruit of some kind," she says, diverting suddenly to the subject of food, "but I don't have any on hand right now." Basil nods slowly as the comment is made. "Well, guess we'll just have to make the best of it then." Another attempt is made at obtaining food, and this time a slow, fatigued and labored gait is accomplished as he makes his way over to the container holding food. It takes a great deal of effort but the lid is removed and a grain is gently pulled out and the beige colored ant begins to nibble on it softly. "When we get a little more energetic, can you recommend a place to buy some fruit? I think we have a little money left over." Basil then takes a couple of steps and gently drops onto the tissue, continuing his labored consumption of the object in his hands. "No," Terry replies firmly, with a shake of her head. "Neither of you are in any condition to do grocery shopping, and once you recover, there will be little need for it anyway. Besides," she adds, aiming a significant look at both Basil and Walter (well, the lump of tissue that ensconces Walter anyway), "I'd rather you saved your money for an apartment." She remains silent for a few seconds. "If you want to try getting over this sooner, I can get the fruit, and a few other things. You can simply repay the amount later." Being such a generous offer, it's hard for Basil to accept especially since he's always the type to feel like an inconvenience. But in this case, it's hard to beat the logic, and turn down the benevolent proposal. "Thanks, that would be most kind of you. We *should* be trying to get a place for ourselves as soon as we can." Perhaps a feeling of imposing is influencing the decision to become self sufficient, but at any rate, they do need to get on with their lives, even if they are far from ideal. Terry nods in the affirmative. "All right. I'll be back soon." She seems almost prepared to add something more, but finally decides to leave it at that. The grasshopper slowly turns and steps out into the hall, closing the door behind her softly. Walter seems to have fallen asleep by now, or is at least simulating sleep down in that makeshift burrow of Kleenex as best he can, despite the pain pulsing through his skull -- this is going to be one long, unpleasant day. Kind of like most of the others, really, except different. Soon after the grain is consumed, Basil decides to leave room for the fruit that will be consumed later when Terry has returned from her errands. He then slowly makes his way to the same spot he's been sleeping before and gently lifts a section of Kleenex from beside him and pulls them over his form, covering all but the segmented portion of his antennae. A few moments later the same hand pushes additional tissue up to cover the exposed sections, as Basil could almost swear he felt actual air molecules bombard them relentlessly. Sleep will be a welcome experience, when and if it finally comes. [END LOG] Next Log: Dinner at Paco's: Part I Return to: Muted Identity logs.

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