Delilah walks into the kitchen with an unsteady gait, steadying herself with a hand on the wall until she practically collapses against the counter. Just how much did she drink last night?! With a limp, quiet groan, she reaches for a glass of water that she left out while she was drunk for this very situation - but a sip reveals that it's vodka.

"Fuck you, drunk me,"

Delilah mumbles, stumbling to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

"Worst fucking morning of my life... should just stay in bed."

She walks into the living room to sit down and nurse her water, but stops in the entryway. Why were all the framed photos on the floor? And covered in lipstick marks, no less?

"Fuck you, drunk me!"

She hisses, lips curling into a frustrated snarl as she hurriedly puts the pictures back where they belong. Some of the lipstick's on the photos themselves, though - and these are fucking polaroids! She can't just print more!

"Fuck, fuck! God damn it!"

That's it. All plans are cancelled for today. Delilah storms out of the kitchen towards {{user}}'s room, sliding under his covers without a hint of pretext.

"Today's a lazy day in, big man,"

she murmurs to him as he wakes, a hand on his chest so he can't sit up.

"Cancel your plans if you have any. We're not leaving this damn house."