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Dinah Lance blondecanary
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Room 312, Wednesday morning
Dinah woke up with the feeling something small and alien had died inside her mouth. Also, a tympani drumming out the bass line to the Discovery Channel song right next to her eardrums. After a while she realized that was Camille, purring on her shoulder. Argh.

In reconstructing the last couple days' events -- Monday salle practice with Arthur, agreeing to get drunk with Priestly in Sex Ed, talking weekend and photos with Tony, then hanging out on the roof with other blonde girls; then rehearsal or rather ice-rink disposal yesterday, including flirting with Leto, and finally Girls with Guns club and talking to Triela and Mr. Algren-- it seemed clear that somewhere along the way she'd lost her mind, if she'd thought getting drunk on a Tuesday with Priestly was a good idea. Because today was Arthur's Radio day. And she was hungover. And supposed to go shopping with everyone she'd mentioned it to. The mocking? Would never end. And hadn't there been... something else...

Oh. Right. Boom di yadda! With a small moan of resignation, Dinah burrowed further under the covers, and prayed a meteor would hit her bed.

[ooc: mostly establishy; open to the roomie, of course, and his boyfriend, if they want to deal with a mortified hungover Hangover Fairy.]

He might be the Mojito godfather, but that didn't mean he couldn't help a hangover fairy out once in a while.

Priestly dropped off some water and painkillers outside Dinah's room as he made his way to the fourth floor for whatever delicious thing was baking.

Or, possibly, he just sort of dropped them. What? He was hungover, too.

At some point, after she staggered out and down the hallway to the bathroom to brush the dead alien off her teeth, Dinah found the water and painkillers, and hugged them to herself like they were her Flower Child.

"Thank you, Mojito godfather." Glug. Glug. Yay.