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Gary was having a perfectly serviceable night out. He and Andy met up at the rugby club after his match and shotgunned a beer each under the bleachers. Then Steve showed up and let Gary bum a smoke or two off of him, and they moved onto The Good Companions. O-man showed up then, telling Gary to go fuck himself when he asked about his sister. Pete got to the pub around the time they started doing shots and telling inappropriate jokes way too loudly.
So yeah, good night, until he fell off of a curb, face first into the tarmac.
“You fuckin’ idiot.” Steve says, trying to pull Gary up and out of the road. Andy grabs his other arm as Pete waves to an oncoming car to slow down so it doesn’t run them all over.
“There’s a curb there.” Ollie deadpans. He makes no attempt to help.
“Fug-of ya cun’.” Gary spits onto the road and it comes out bloody. He runs his tongue over his teeth to check that they’re all still there - they are. Lifting his hand to his face, he feels blood dripping from his nose. He thinks he bit his tongue too.
“Jesus, mate.” Andy wipes at Gary’s nose with his sleeve. “Did you hit your head?”
“Jus’ ma fase.” Gary mumbles. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth.
“Are you that drunk?” Ollie asks. “You’re slurring your words.”
“Fuggin’ smash’d m’self on tha rod.” Gary gestures to his blood on the tarmac. “Y’d be talgin’ fun’y too.”
“We’d better get you home.” Pete says.
“‘M fine.” Gary struggles to his feet, leaning heavily on Andy. More blood dribbles down his face “Nex’ pub.”
“At least clean the blood off of your face or they won’t let us in.” Steve pulls a pack of tissues out of his pocket and does his best to mop up the blood.
“Di’ ya mum gib ya th’se?” Gary teases.
“I can’t understand a word you are saying.” Steve says.
“Fug-of.”