"Never again."
Jack grunts in agreement, head laying heavy on the table as he nurses one hell of a hangover. He’s ordered everyone else out of the lunchroom where they’d woken up from their drunken stupor, and it’s now blissfully quiet other than the low hum of various Hyperion machinery– he’s more than grateful for the silence.
“Technically– this is all your fault.”
He cradles his head–(and where the hell had his pants gone, anyway?)–, whining long and low-pitched in his throat. He doesn’t get up from his slumped position; he doesn’t think he could even if he tried.
“If it wasn’t for you and your stupid lemons, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” His tone is full of bitterness as he swings a leg under the table in an effort to kick the enforcer sitting across from him. He gives up as soon as he realizes what a waste of energy it is. The other man’s already in just as a sorry state as he is, anyway.
Jack fights back another wave of nausea and rubs at his temples in an attempt to make the pain just go away already. Fuckin’ Tequila!! Never again, indeed.