Snippet #974686

"Bwuh." Bruce Lawson gurgled drunkenly, stumbling out the front door of the latest seedy bar he'd found himself drinking in with his few friends. He was well and truly wasted now, though, and - flanked by his three buds, all in similar states of inebriation - was headed for home. The quartet, swaying one way and then the other as they stumbled forward, came to a stopped crosswalk and attempted to run across, succeeding only in a faster version of their erratic, drunken stumbling, and then a crash landing on the curb.

"Mebbe... Mebbe we should... Calls a cab..." One of Lawson's comrades; a short, stocky man whose name was some horrible collision of vowels and consonants that was barely legible when sober. The other three men said various agreements, and soon the four of them were standing at the side of the street, hollering "TAXI!" as loud as their voices would go, waving at every yellow car that passed - taxi or no - until finally one stopped. The four guys piled into the converted minivan and crowed out their various addresses.

The taxi ride was frantic and loud, and filled with the raucous mirth that can only be summoned by four good old boys well and truly drunk off their asses. Eventually, only Lawson remained in the cab - then he, too, was dropped off at the foot of his apartment. He stumbled slowly up the six flights of stairs to his apartment, falling several times and very nearly rolling back down to the bottom, then collapsed onto his couch.

The Drifter awoke, cradling his own throbbing head. Apparently he was feeling a bit tipsy, too, but nothing disabling like Lawson's state. The man who dressed like a cowboy subconsciously found that it was time to check something at Aegis HQ, so off he went. He sprinted down the stairs and across the street, poncho fluttering dramatically, as he ran for the Regen Corporation's headquarters.