Book Two : Aveline. | Slash Fanfiction

chapter twenty-seven

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TWENTY-SEVEN, 1992 - London.
Day Four ; An Artist's Array

          MAYBE, AFTER THEIR seventh double-shot of Tequila, Saul, Aveline, Steven and Duff should have stopped. After all, it was only ten o'clock, early morning, and none of the quartet had digested anything considerably solid yet. Consequently, they were all entirely wasted; with the walls breathing momentarily, and the floor wobbling harsher than a plate of ice-cold, freshly set, raspberry, jelly. But it didn't matter to them, as they giggled at things holding little to no amusement, and babbled on about things that didn't make sense.

"How's it goin', man?" Duff questioned, slugging Aveline on the shoulder, slightly harder than it seemed her drunken state could handle as she toppled from the stool, flunking down upon the floor with a loud thud and throaty giggle. "Shit, sorry, Aveline." Duff snickered. "I didn't mean to fuckin' body slam ya."

She giggled uncontrollably from her position upon the floor, shaking her head lightheartedly as Saul reached down and connected their hands with an unsteady and intoxicated hold, attempting to tug her up helpfully. Only, in his unbelievably drunken state, Saul toppled from his own bar stool and crashed down upon the floorboards just beside the chuckling girl, unable to pause the laugh as it descended from his lips.

"I have a fuckin' idea." Saul mumbled, resting his head floppily against her shoulder as they continued to sprawl messily upon the floor. They all snapped their gazes toward him, eyelids half shut with intoxication, nodding with a strong lack of balance. "Why don't we do a little redecorating?" Aveline frowned with light confusion, sharing an estranged glance with Steven and Duff as the taller blonde inquired a voice for their thoughts.

"Whatcha talkin' 'bout, man?" He questioned, tilting his head to the right with an unsteady hinge latching him to the stool, his drunken giggles almost tipping him aloft the edge and onto the floor in a heap of intoxication. Mixed with Aveline and Saul, of course. And possibly Steven, too, if he felt like adding to the bundle. "We ain't got nothin' to redecorate."

"Sure we do." Steven nodded in agreement, chiming in with his opinion upon Saul's idea. "We got three hotel rooms, don't we?"

"Alright." Aveline shrugged, shuffling through her shallow pockets and withdrawing the crumpled up, thrice washed, twenty note, slamming it upon the fabric of Saul's thigh as he winced exaggeratedly. "How much dough you knuckleheads got?"

~*~

In total, their purchase had amounted to an excessive amount of money, resulting in a few begrudging signs and more faffing around pockets and tight leather straps and cowboy boots and other things unnecessary yet entirely mandatory for a rockstars attire. Together, they carried four bags of different contents', all destructive in their own way, financially menacing and physically brutal to the victimizing Hotel they so fortunately caught the stay within.

Within Duff's deep blue, plastic bag, sat four red cans of staining spray paint, and two black, a few yellow and one green. They weren't entirely sure as to why they launched the neon lime into the basket as they wandered around the store in drunken heaps, but it happened; and they were sure it'd be something memorable in the mornings comings.

Steven carried two cans of paint in each hand, one orange and the other pink as he occasionally tilted a little too far to one side and toppled over, surprisingly enough not quite chipping away at the paints canister and bursting it upon the concrete of the dingy street.