It isn’t often when Itchy wakes up and finds himself completely bewildered by what’s gone down. His head pounds and Itchy finds himself reluctant to move, trying to remember what the hell he was drinking that his body is STILL trying to flush it out hours later. Then he remembers; moonshine. A lot of moonshine. So much moonshine that he distinctly remembers not being able to feel his legs at all and trying to tell the carapacian sitting beside him before he promptly blacked out.
He’s sticky and sore and there’s something cold and heavy resting against his hip. There’s also something penis-shaped resting on his chest- wait, no, two shapes, two dildos probably. Must have been a fun night to break those out. Itchy reluctantly opens his eyes to see what the damage is.
Yep, those are dildos on his chest, though somebody’s gone to the trouble of attaching them to his hat. There’s also something grey smeared all over him (a quick scratch and sniff reveals it’s just body paint) and there’s a carapacian lying beside him, also covered in grey paint, and wearing a pair of horns on her head, like she’s dressed up as the Handmaid-
"Oh shit!" Itchy says to himself, pausing as he feels a wave of nausea rolling over him. Right, right, he’s got to shut up. The moonshine really doesn’t like the sounds he’s making. His mouth is like a desert too.
Okay, so, inventory: grey paint on both of them, troll horns on her, dildo-horns on his hat. There are clothes (hers) lying on the ground with something scribbled on the shirt in blue. There are clothes (his) crammed into a dresser drawer, that someone has gotten yellow paint on. The bed sheets are a mess. And the thing against his hip is a bucket full of something that he’s not sure he wants to look too closely at in the harsh light of day.
Itchy staggers out of bed and straight to the bathroom to york up whatever’s left in his stomach and then to fill it up with water and something greasy from the kitchen. As he stumbles toward the door, he reflects on the fact that he’s naked, covered in paint and heavily hungover. There’s only one thing to do.
He grabs the hat off the bed, crams it on his head, and makes for the bathroom, taking comfort that he may look stupid, but it is the stupid of someone who just had unbelievably kinky sex.