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Ban Hammer blinks awake with a grumbled sigh, squinting against the light pouring onto his face. He may have forgotten to close the blinds last night. Now he's paying for it. Bleugh.
He shuts his eyes to avoid the awful light, and begrudingly winches himself into a position you could generously call "upright" (nevermind the fact he looks like count dracula with a hangover).
As the next step of his plan, he wraps the soft blanket into a coccoon as he prepares to brave the horrors of ice-cold tile flooring.
Or, well, he tries to wrap the blanket. It seems stuck. He lazily tugs it. It doesn't move an inch. He grimaces, tugging on it firmly this time. The blanket (full of spite) refuses. He grits his teeth and yanks the dang blanket, but right before the yank it strangely unwinds, nearly sending him toppling off the side of the bed from inertia. He huffs, taking the horrid blanket and finally tucking it around himself. His sulking is cut short by the sound of a far too familiar southern drawl,
"Next time y'want more blanket, why not just ask instead of trying'ta send me flying?" Scythe -(Scythe the outlaw. Scythe the greatest pain in his LIFE)- dryly asks, already reaching for her prosthetic arm on the nearby endtable. (On his??? Endtable??? HER AUDACITY???)
Every single one of Ban Hammer's eyes shoot open, and he practically hollers in shock as he scrambles backward, forgetting in his horrified backpedal that he's already on the edge of the bed and there's nothing preventing his fall.
And so, Ban Hammer, mighty Warden of the Banlands, wheels over the edge of the bed and hits the floor with a painful thump. He quickly shakes his head, staring up at the ceiling with eyes the size of soup bowls. Status check time. He has:
1: aching pain in his back
2: blanket tangled around his legs
3: worst of all his MORTAL!! MORTAL ENEMY IN HIS BED.
What a WRETCHED start to the morning. This is somehow even worse then the time he ate expired sushi.
The aformentioned mortal enemy shoves her head over the bedside, moderate.. (Concern? Confusion? Laughter? Fear?) ..something-or-other masked under her normal infuriating smug grin. "Banny-Boo? Helloooo~? You alive down there?", which only sparks Ban Hammer's rage further.
He responds in a barely comprehensible shriek. (as all true gentlemen do.) "YOU?? YOU'RE IN. MYHOUSE. WHY? MY HOUSE?? MY bED?? BANNY-BOO?????? WHAT?????????"
Scythe's expression contorts into a wince at his sheer volume, concern becoming much more prominent as she hops off the bed and crouches over his supine form. "Alllright, cool it. Did you hit yer head or something?" He pridefully puffs up, introjection already started, "I-" only get stupefied by her shoving a shiny hand in his face. "How many fingers you seein'?"
He irately slaps her hand away, sitting up as he tries to recover his jumbled train of thought and the hazy memories of last night that accompanied it. "Look, i'm FINE. None of the stupid hand stuff."
A nonverbal battle spurs into action, with Scythe judgmentally sizing up Ban Hammer (you sure?) while Ban Hammer untangles himself from the blankets and gives her a proper stink eye (positive).
Ban Hammer comes out the victor because of course he does, burrito-ing himself with the blanket in a victorious way while Scythe leans back against the bedframe and rattles off an explanation.
"We won yesterday's Phight, you accepted my offer for a drink or two-"she quickly predicts and cuts off his question "-no i don't know know 'why ya did it'- Ban Hammer grumpily squints at her from his position of power in the blanket burrito. "-an' don't you go givin' me that look, you know you were gonn' ask that. Anyhow we both had a coupla drinks, talked for a while, y'know.. all that jazz."
..Well, that does line up with his fuzzy memories. But one crucial detail is off. He deftly interrupts her mid-sentence, objecting like this is an ace attorney game and he's not in a blanket burrito (picture the graphic here.) "BUT HOW DID WE GET FROM THE BAR TO MY HOUSE???"
Scythe responds with a glare so dry it could've killed a man via evaporation. Luckily inphernals don't have that stuff so Ban Hammer's still fine.
"If you'd let me finish, then you'd know."
He quickly turns away and whistles innocently, claws gently clacking against one another as fidgets with the blanket. (Everyone be so proud of him he's taking the point in a conversation 💜)
The glare relents a bit at his antics and Scythe continues in a milder tone: "You've got the worst alcohol tolerance i've ever seen and y'were practically snorin' after two shots, so i had ta' walk you home." Ban Hammer, for once, has no desire to object as he is far too busy turning white as a sheet. "An' then when i got ya' home, y' just grabbed onto me like a ragdoll an' eventually i decided to stay the night."
She fondly grins at his overdramatic horror. Mulling over her options, she decides to throw him a bone in the form of a distraction. "Ah-ah, none of that. Calm down. I just stayed 'cause you're too hefty to move easy!"
"WHAT????"
Her grin only widens as Ban Hammer indignantly sputters at her. Internally she's half-listening and half-wondering what she should order both of them for breakfast. Maybe something from that pancake place a few blocks away.. apparentky they have some nice french toast. And they'll surely sell waffles, didn't he mention liking them once? Ah well. She dismisses the thought calmly, she'll just ask him later once he's cooled down.