Snippet #2743794

Christina was not in a good way.

She woke up that morning-- or was it afternoon?-- to two lovely wake-up gifts. One of them was the vibration of her phone, which had inexplicably ended up on her forehead at some point before she'd fallen asleep. This had the effect of exacerbating the second wake-up gift, which happened to be a pounding, pounding headache.

With a wretched groan, she dragged herself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall of her bedroom and letting her phone tumble into her lap in the process. "Mistakes," she declared laboriously to nobody at all. "Have been made." Well, at least she had nothing planned for the rest of the day; she was entirely at liberty to bury herself under the blankets, shove her head under a pillow, and go right back to--

Her phone buzzed again-- the text message from earlier. The moment she glanced at the name of the sender, she nearly groaned again: Operation Stay In Bed and Ignore the World was a no-go. She was due at the studio in... She blinked, trying to figure out just what time was flashing across the top of her phone's display, before giving up and rubbing at her eyes. If she wasn't currently late, she certainly would be very soon, unless she summoned up the will to get out of bed. And right now, the odds of that weren't looking too good.

To her credit, it only took Christina about two minutes to part ways with the enticing prospect of giving Sturm the metaphorical finger and going back to bed. With a Herculean groan that implied she was bearing the burdens of Atlas himself, Christina lifted herself off the bed, and began to get dressed, muttering all the while that this was definitely the last time she got that drunk.

Also to her credit, by the time she arrived at the studio, Christina was doing what she personally considered a stellar job at pretending she wasn't hungover to hell and back. She made for the little kitchenette between the two recording rooms, intent on snagging herself a cup of coffee, and stopped short when she found it occupied by a tall, dark, and potentially handsome (she wasn't a great judge of such things when she felt like she was being treated to the lyrical content of Demolition Hammer's Skull Fracturing Nightmare) fellow. She blinked, and tried to figure out which of her bandmates this guy was, employing once again her trusty process of elimination. No beard, so it clearly wasn't Zack. He had a shirt on, so it clearly wasn't Lionel. He wasn't currently excoriating Christina for being late, so it clearly wasn't Ted.

Oh, wait-- this guy must be from that other band, Psoriasis. Having spent about ten seconds staring at him trying to get to the bottom of the mystery, Christina flashed him a genial smile. "Howdy, neighbour," she said. "I don't suppose there's any coffee to be had here?"