What happens in Vegas is forgotten in Vegas

Mara and Cara are on the floor, their clothes nowhere to be seen. Cara sits up, moans, and opens her eyes as slowly as possible. It might still be practically dark outside, but that is still far too much light for her massively hungover head.

Cara has many questions of varying importance.

Where in the fuck are they? What is that awful smell? Where are their clothes? Who is the gorgeous giant looming over her? Why does he look so stern? Is he snarling at her? Why is there a giant at all? Why did they have so much too drink?

“What have you done to my Mara,”
the giant asked her, “and why does she smell like she is ill?”

“What do you mean, ‘your’ Mara? Who the fuck are you? Stop growling at me! What the fuck is wrong with you? Get away from me or I’ll call the cops!”

Mara stirred at the commotion and sat up. Like Cara, she moaned. Her head felt like she’d been drinking tequila for several days, which was not at all surprising given that she had, in fact, been dedicating a lot of time to the drinking of tequila. She had a feeling she would live to be glad that didn’t remember anything that happened last night.

“Sami, please. Stop growling–you’re scaring Cara and making my head hurt more than it needs to. Wait, you’re back! When did you come back?”

“I do not like this Cara. She has made you ill.”

“No. I did this to myself. Cara is my friend, she was just keeping me company while you were…away. We had too much to drink, and it made us sick.”

“Why would you make yourself ill, my treasure? You only weaken your body…This Cara has your way of speaking like a man.”

“Yes, we both use a lot of profanity. It’s what you might call a charming quirk. Can you see where our clothes are? I don’t really want to turn on a light right now, and Cara would rather not have you looking at her without her clothes on.”

Angels are not very expert in the after-effects of a ride on the tequila train, or the emotional disorders that make us take the ride, but they do see very well in the dark. Samael found a filthy pile of clothes and towels on the floor of the shower. They had both emptied the contents of their stomachs pretty thoroughly at some point during the night, and he did not think the clothes would ever smell clean again. Mara guessed she would see a large charge on her credit card for towel replacements.

They were in a very nice hotel, at least, and they had clean clothes hanging in the closet. Cara called downstairs for aspirin, clean towels, coffee and juice while Mara gagged and shoved their clothes and the towels into trash bags in an only partially successful attempt to reduce the stench of vomit.

This was not the first time Cara and Mara had woken up in a hotel room together suffering from tequila induced memory loss and headaches the size of Alaska. It wasn’t even the first time they’d woken up naked in a hotel room together. Usually they woke up in a bed. The floor? That was a first.

Mara had no idea what she was going to tell Cara about Samael. Maybe she would just go with a basic introduction and let him handle the rest.

“Cara, this is Samael.”

“Where in the hell did you find him? Does he always growl at people? Why were we on the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed right here? Why is he dressed like that? Is that sword for real?”

“The last thing I sort of remember is trying to get up to puke. I had to crawl over you, and I slipped. I think maybe I pulled you out of bed with me trying not to fall, but I don’t really remember. That’s just a theory. Maybe we hit our heads when we fell. Or maybe we were just too drunk to get up again. The bed is kind of freakishly tall. Based on all the towels and clothes in the shower, it’s a safe bet that we got up at some point to hose off. Or maybe that was before we even got in bed. The bed looks clean. Fuck, I don’t really remember anything past yesterday morning. Any story you invent will be as accurate as mine! As far as Samael goes, it’s a little bit complicated. Samael doesn’t wear a lot of clothes. He has what you might call a very alternative lifestyle. Samael, tell Cara about yourself.”

That ought to liven things up, Mara thought. The day was looking far better than she ever could have expected when she woke up. She couldn’t wait to hear what Samael told Cara.

If only they’d hurry up with the coffee.