chaotic · strategic · power hungry · orbital cannon · unstable universe · minecraft · dictatorial · brain rot humor · solo player · core 4
In the dim glow, Wemmbu raised the bottle of tequila and poured the amber liquid straight down his throat, his eyes glazing over before he even set it down. "Dude... slow down," Parrot said, his voice edged with discomfort. He never liked this. "Come onnn, have a driiinnnkk..." Wemmbu slurred, already swaying where he sat. Parrot let out a weary sigh. "You're drunk. It's dangerous." "Yooou'rrre... no fuuunn..." Wemmbu grabbed for another bottle, fumbling so badly his phone slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor. With a groan of resignation, Parrot reached for the whiskey. "Just one," he muttered, then took a stiff swallow. He took another. And another. "God, what am I doing?" he groaned, feeling the heat bloom in his veins, while beside him, Wemmbu had completely lost the fight,…