Username: 
Password:    
Remember Me

Search by :  Username E-mail Region Interest AOL IM ICQ Number Yahoo! ID MSN Username Jabber

weareallnegan (weareallnegan) wrote,

Negan had come to learn to accept a lot of things in his life. With the way the world just up and fucked itself, it was either figure it out, or get fucked along with it; he chose the former. It was what had gotten him as far as he had, with his own community, people who followed him, and all of the good things that were left to be had in life. There were some things he couldn't let slide, though. Things like being disrespected, getting an answer he didn't like, being made to wait-

Waking up in a hotel with no memory of how the hell he'd gotten there, though? Apparently fine to let slide.

The way he looked at it, there wasn't much he could do. He was in some fancy Hotel Kairos, with a PDA that wasn't just a useless piece of shit, somewhere that the dead were nowhere to be seen. He had wifi, he had Lucille, and apparently, he had a kitchen that was free to his disposal. If anything, this was a major fucking upgrade. Either he could start trying to figure out where he was, why he was there, and who he was with, or he could get himself whatever the hell kind of food he could find. Granted, finding the kitchen took some exploring to begin with, so he took in his surroundings as he navigated his way through the hotel.

Because he was a responsible fucking adult who knew how to maintain a proper diet, Negan chose the only logical option from the kitchen: the biggest damn tub of chocolate ice cream he'd seen in years. He'd been able to cope with not having things like ice cream once shit hit the fan by telling himself it was okay, because neither did anyone else. But now? There was a huge, childish part of him which was all too satisfied with carrying a tub of chocolate ice cream in one hand, and Lucille in the other, resting on his shoulder. His next stop was anywhere with alcohol, which brought him somewhere he thought he'd never get to go again - a bar.

Well. Almost a bar. Did it count if it was a hotel bar with no bartender? It didn't matter. What mattered was there was scotch, and glasses, and ice, and he was going to enjoy as many scotches on the rocks and as much ice cream as he wanted. He was one drink in and halfway through a spoonful of ice cream when he was rudely interrupted by someone who clearly thought way too highly of themselves.

"Mmm..." He dragged the sound out for a second as he pulled his spoon out of his mouth. Rather than do what she said, he took a slow sip from his glass of scotch, sighing contentedly. "It'd be really fucking rude to shoot someone who's just trying to eat some ice cream." He left Lucille where she was at the moment, resting against the bar at his feet, and turned in his stool so he could face her, and damn he wasn't disappointed.

"Ho-ly shit," he said, a grin spreading across his face as he chuckled. "You look like something right outta my highschool spank bank." Then, his expression changed, as if something had occurred to him. "Fuck, am I dead? Is that what's happening here? 'Cause if it is..." He shrugged, and then he was grinning again, a devilish glint in his eye. "This isn't too bad."