(no subject)

[lapsedsaint]

*hands on forehead* Make it stop.

Comments

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

Wuts wrong wit ya?

[lapsedsaint]

Feels like someone stabbed me in the head.

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

. . . Really? Ya been drinkin', ya take anyt'ing fer it?

[lapsedsaint]

This isn't a hangover.

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

It ain't? *Concentrates on the front part of his brain, pushing and digging in.* Wut it feel like?

[lapsedsaint]

Like the front of my head's being pushed on.

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

Ya should lay down. Mebe it'll go away. *Slowly relaxes, breathless, and feeling like shit, but also very smug.* Ah'm sorry ya feel like dat.

[lapsedsaint]

I'm sure you are.

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

Ah dun wish ya no harm on ya, John.

*She idly explores his brain more, not seeking memories, apparently those are for chumps. Now she wants to make him feel good. She touches on the the ventral tegmental area, which triggers the release of dopamine, which plays a large role in general sensations and pleasure. Maybe it's time to go to the library and see what other fun facts about the brain she can find.*

[lapsedsaint]

*shudders and lays down, trying to get some control back over his head. reaches, instinctively, for the liquor and chalks the day up as a wash*

[reluctantdagny.livejournal.com]

Sleep well . . .

[lapsedsaint]

Thanks.