Hyperion, Saturday Night

[demonbelthazor]

Bel didn't get sick often, especially since he picked up the nifty insta-healing powers in the Wastelands. But there were a few things that could still knock him off his feet, such as, unfortunately, the common cold. And said cold turned Bel into a whiny, cranky, miserable patient indeed.

Phoebe had gone to the store to buy a bottle of medicine for him. It was the most vile thing he had ever tasted, and living in the Underworld, he had tasted a lot of vile things. But he began to feel a little better, so he figured that more of a good thing was a better thing and chugged the whole bottle.

This could prove to be a biiiiig mistake.

Especially because his cell phone was in easy reach.


[For returned phone calls (hee) and Hyperion inhabitants, and brought to you by the fact that I am sick as a dog and high on NyQuil. NyQuil, NyQuil, NyQuil, we love you, you giant frakking Q!]

Comments

Re: Returned Calls

[needsaparrot]

There's a loud snort. "Angel will never, ever, make me big."

Re: Returned Calls

[demonbelthazor]

"Okay," Bel said. "The rest of us can do it without him. We've got more than enough talent between us all."

Re: Returned Calls

[needsaparrot]

"Where are the rest of them - passed out in a corner?" Xander asks, figuring otherwise they'd be stopping Bel from drunk-dialing. Unless they were, you know, sitting there watching and snickering.