His steps were slow and heavy, his head low with neck level to his spine. Due to the deep throb of his brain, he seemed unable to carry it any higher than that. He barely even recognized he was moving, only that the thump thump of his heavy footfall in the snow was oddly soothing. The cold winter breeze was additionally soothing, chasing off the heat of the sun as it beat down on his alabaster back, unshrouded by clouds nor shade from any tree. Stupid, really. It was cold out here, freezing almost, and yet he was sweating.
Summed up, this sucks. The big pale redhead, usually jovial and cheery, brought down by a bloody hangover from hell. How did this even happen? Reilly didn't get hangovers! He hadn't felt pain like this since he was not more than a teen in horse years, still figuring out his abilities and one night when he'd gone too far with it. But never once since then. Better question: Why did this happen? And why can't he make it stop? Why can't he draw that sweet, sweet elation that charged him, fired him up, provided him with a level of bliss only he could achieve. It had always been there. Always when he wanted it or when the time had felt right. And really, when hadn't the time felt right? The stallion wouldn't say he was Always drunk, because he didn't always use it. But time spent sober had been fewer and further between. He loved the feeling, had embraced it easily. And now, he couldn't reach it. Felt an emptiness unfillable by food or water. In fact, merely attempting to induce that delectable sensation sent shards of pain through his skull. Ugh, don't do that again.
Thoroughly distracted and miserable as he was, the man was completely unaware of the bustling activity in the meadow all around him. And truthfully, he couldn't have cared. His mind was a roiling blur, blue-green eyes almost completely shielded by his white lids. So when the blue roan approached, he might have plowed right into him as they had upon their first meeting, if he'd been a little more in front of him. Thankfully not, however, for such a collision in his current state may have proved rather disastrous. Still, he was utterly ignorant of his presence, until.. "Reilly?" The surprise of hearing his name caused him to jerk his head to the sound. Immediately, the throbbing ache in his head intensified ten-fold and he clenched his eyes against the pain, ears flattening to his neck. "Good god, it's been ages!"
At first, the only sound that came from the snowy stallion was an agonized groan. "Oy! Ye don't hav'ta shout, laddie, I'm right here.." His voice was rough and cracked, as though he hadn't had a drink in days. It took him several deep breaths to allow the horrid ache of his head and neck to settle back to a tolerable degree before he could open his eyes and glare at the speaker who dared to startle him. Once he managed it, though, the heat easily faded from his gaze as he looked the man over. The black-ish face, the body broad and stout and bluish-grey, the large brown eyes. There were many things different about the stallion, but enough was the same for Reilly to place him in his memory. "Bluidy hell.. Shah?" He did his best to ignore the ache and throb as he lifted his head to view him better, sharing the man's incredulity.
"Well color me gobsmacked. It must'a been donkey's years since I seen ya!" He attempted a smile and moved to give the other male a friendly tap on his shoulder with his muzzle, flinching minorly at the pinpricks stabbing behind his eyes. His old friend spoke again, commenting on his appearance and Reilly could only shrug. "Ahh, I don't feel so well, either, laddie. It appears I'm off tha black stuff fer a'while." And oh, not by his feckin choice, that was for sure. He couldn't fully keep the disappointment from his face. Cold turkey wasn't the way he would have chosen to quit. IF he'd wanted to quit, which he bloody well didn't. Maybe his friend would have some answers as to what had happened here, and why he was being subjected to this terrible misery. Forcibly so.
Summed up, this sucks. The big pale redhead, usually jovial and cheery, brought down by a bloody hangover from hell. How did this even happen? Reilly didn't get hangovers! He hadn't felt pain like this since he was not more than a teen in horse years, still figuring out his abilities and one night when he'd gone too far with it. But never once since then. Better question: Why did this happen? And why can't he make it stop? Why can't he draw that sweet, sweet elation that charged him, fired him up, provided him with a level of bliss only he could achieve. It had always been there. Always when he wanted it or when the time had felt right. And really, when hadn't the time felt right? The stallion wouldn't say he was Always drunk, because he didn't always use it. But time spent sober had been fewer and further between. He loved the feeling, had embraced it easily. And now, he couldn't reach it. Felt an emptiness unfillable by food or water. In fact, merely attempting to induce that delectable sensation sent shards of pain through his skull. Ugh, don't do that again.
Thoroughly distracted and miserable as he was, the man was completely unaware of the bustling activity in the meadow all around him. And truthfully, he couldn't have cared. His mind was a roiling blur, blue-green eyes almost completely shielded by his white lids. So when the blue roan approached, he might have plowed right into him as they had upon their first meeting, if he'd been a little more in front of him. Thankfully not, however, for such a collision in his current state may have proved rather disastrous. Still, he was utterly ignorant of his presence, until.. "Reilly?" The surprise of hearing his name caused him to jerk his head to the sound. Immediately, the throbbing ache in his head intensified ten-fold and he clenched his eyes against the pain, ears flattening to his neck. "Good god, it's been ages!"
At first, the only sound that came from the snowy stallion was an agonized groan. "Oy! Ye don't hav'ta shout, laddie, I'm right here.." His voice was rough and cracked, as though he hadn't had a drink in days. It took him several deep breaths to allow the horrid ache of his head and neck to settle back to a tolerable degree before he could open his eyes and glare at the speaker who dared to startle him. Once he managed it, though, the heat easily faded from his gaze as he looked the man over. The black-ish face, the body broad and stout and bluish-grey, the large brown eyes. There were many things different about the stallion, but enough was the same for Reilly to place him in his memory. "Bluidy hell.. Shah?" He did his best to ignore the ache and throb as he lifted his head to view him better, sharing the man's incredulity.
"Well color me gobsmacked. It must'a been donkey's years since I seen ya!" He attempted a smile and moved to give the other male a friendly tap on his shoulder with his muzzle, flinching minorly at the pinpricks stabbing behind his eyes. His old friend spoke again, commenting on his appearance and Reilly could only shrug. "Ahh, I don't feel so well, either, laddie. It appears I'm off tha black stuff fer a'while." And oh, not by his feckin choice, that was for sure. He couldn't fully keep the disappointment from his face. Cold turkey wasn't the way he would have chosen to quit. IF he'd wanted to quit, which he bloody well didn't. Maybe his friend would have some answers as to what had happened here, and why he was being subjected to this terrible misery. Forcibly so.
