Russell leans on the counter besides the sink, leaning over precariously close to banging his head on the overhead cabinets, to peer at his flatmate's face. It's got some kind of unhappy and unwell expression to it, but nothing that the sudden sink vomiting didn't hint at.
"Why are you puking," he repeats. "Was it the art? I can take the stencils down, they're not working for me either."
Not so badly that he's puking about it, but who knows what kind of parties Walter's been at this night.
no subject
Russell leans on the counter besides the sink, leaning over precariously close to banging his head on the overhead cabinets, to peer at his flatmate's face. It's got some kind of unhappy and unwell expression to it, but nothing that the sudden sink vomiting didn't hint at.
"Why are you puking," he repeats. "Was it the art? I can take the stencils down, they're not working for me either."
Not so badly that he's puking about it, but who knows what kind of parties Walter's been at this night.