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Wilford was slowly pulled awake by two different, yet distinct sensations. First, it felt as if his bladder were going to explode. Second, the side of his head was completely soaked and sticky from his dog licking his hair for the last hour. He grumbled, found his glasses buried in the bedding, and sat up, pushing the dog away so he’d stop.
Bathroom first, and then kitchen. As he got up, every bone in his back snapped and popped from lying face down for the last… Christ, he didn’t even know how long. The sun was up, so for the last day, at least. He took care of what needed to be taken care of, and then took the time to wash up a bit, brushing his teeth to get the taste of sleep out of his mouth, and changed into a clean pair of pyjamas. He wasn’t quite ready to face the world yet, but his shirt was disgusting after sharing the bed with the dog.
Buster followed him into the kitchen, was had been cleared up of any mess from before Wilford had decided to drug himself into a near comatose state. There was a confused moment while he tried to figure out where it had all gone, before he remembered the boy downstairs. Well, the kid will have either figured it out or left in a panic, and he assumed he’d find out eventually. As it was, he needed to eat something now, and there were enough leftovers in the fridge to make that task happen all the sooner. He was a little less picky about what he grabbed this time, and even took the time to open the lid and toss it into the microwave to heat up a bit. Checking the time on the stove, Wilford reached into the fridge and grabbed out an egg as well, tossing it to Buster. As always, it bounced right off the dog’s face and splatted onto the floor in a sticky, slimy mess that was soon devoured.
Once his own food was ready, Wilford grabbed a fork from the drawer and took everything over to his chair by the window. He was tired and stiff, and everything felt a bit slow and fuzzy around the edges as he struggled to fully wake up again after so much time asleep. After a bit of digging around, he found his phone buried in with the other junk in the end table. After some confused scrutiny, he realised he’d been out for almost 30 hours. No wonder everything felt fuzzy and uncomfortable.
But nobody had come snooping around looking for him yet, so he must not have been missed around the studio. They had enough pre-filmed segments to fill an entire episode if needed, and the other reporters knew their jobs and how to get them done without someone there to crack the whip. But it wasn’t too long before someone did come snooping. Keys in the lock, instead of a timid knock prompted a few barks from Buster, but not much else from anybody as Billy let himself in and kicked off his shoes by the door.
“I’m taking the day off,” Wilford said before Billy could even think of dragging him back.
“We noticed.” He dropped down into the sofa and gave Buster a good scratch behind the ears. “I’m here to drag you back in because you missed a meeting with the programming director. So that happened. You tore out of here, and I have no idea where you went.”
He picked up the remote and turned the TV on, idling flipping through the channels Wilford paid for and never watched.
“Works for me,” Wilford said, stabbing something that was probably pork and eating. He still couldn’t taste anything right now, but his stomach was grateful all the same. “Kid’s got all sorts of stuff in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Billy hummed curiously and got up to go nose through the fridge. “You know, when I suggested you find someone, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Fuck off.” Wilford knew exactly what Billy had meant, and had simply chosen to ignore it. He tossed a piece of meat down to the dog, cringing when it bounced off the floor instead of being caught. What a wholly useless creature the dog was.
Billy came back a few minutes later with a proper plate of heated leftovers.
“You know, there’s always the internet,” he said, not even bothering to look over.
He got an ashtray thrown at him for his troubles.
Bathroom first, and then kitchen. As he got up, every bone in his back snapped and popped from lying face down for the last… Christ, he didn’t even know how long. The sun was up, so for the last day, at least. He took care of what needed to be taken care of, and then took the time to wash up a bit, brushing his teeth to get the taste of sleep out of his mouth, and changed into a clean pair of pyjamas. He wasn’t quite ready to face the world yet, but his shirt was disgusting after sharing the bed with the dog.
Buster followed him into the kitchen, was had been cleared up of any mess from before Wilford had decided to drug himself into a near comatose state. There was a confused moment while he tried to figure out where it had all gone, before he remembered the boy downstairs. Well, the kid will have either figured it out or left in a panic, and he assumed he’d find out eventually. As it was, he needed to eat something now, and there were enough leftovers in the fridge to make that task happen all the sooner. He was a little less picky about what he grabbed this time, and even took the time to open the lid and toss it into the microwave to heat up a bit. Checking the time on the stove, Wilford reached into the fridge and grabbed out an egg as well, tossing it to Buster. As always, it bounced right off the dog’s face and splatted onto the floor in a sticky, slimy mess that was soon devoured.
Once his own food was ready, Wilford grabbed a fork from the drawer and took everything over to his chair by the window. He was tired and stiff, and everything felt a bit slow and fuzzy around the edges as he struggled to fully wake up again after so much time asleep. After a bit of digging around, he found his phone buried in with the other junk in the end table. After some confused scrutiny, he realised he’d been out for almost 30 hours. No wonder everything felt fuzzy and uncomfortable.
But nobody had come snooping around looking for him yet, so he must not have been missed around the studio. They had enough pre-filmed segments to fill an entire episode if needed, and the other reporters knew their jobs and how to get them done without someone there to crack the whip. But it wasn’t too long before someone did come snooping. Keys in the lock, instead of a timid knock prompted a few barks from Buster, but not much else from anybody as Billy let himself in and kicked off his shoes by the door.
“I’m taking the day off,” Wilford said before Billy could even think of dragging him back.
“We noticed.” He dropped down into the sofa and gave Buster a good scratch behind the ears. “I’m here to drag you back in because you missed a meeting with the programming director. So that happened. You tore out of here, and I have no idea where you went.”
He picked up the remote and turned the TV on, idling flipping through the channels Wilford paid for and never watched.
“Works for me,” Wilford said, stabbing something that was probably pork and eating. He still couldn’t taste anything right now, but his stomach was grateful all the same. “Kid’s got all sorts of stuff in the kitchen. Help yourself.”
Billy hummed curiously and got up to go nose through the fridge. “You know, when I suggested you find someone, this isn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Fuck off.” Wilford knew exactly what Billy had meant, and had simply chosen to ignore it. He tossed a piece of meat down to the dog, cringing when it bounced off the floor instead of being caught. What a wholly useless creature the dog was.
Billy came back a few minutes later with a proper plate of heated leftovers.
“You know, there’s always the internet,” he said, not even bothering to look over.
He got an ashtray thrown at him for his troubles.
