Room 501, Saturday Morning
Feb. 7th, 2009 02:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
carsexualChas Kramer woke up on Saturday morning in a strange place, in a strange bed, with a chihuahua with a rhinestone collar licking his face. This wasn't actually the weirdest thing that had happened to him since he'd met John Constantine, but it was pretty weird, if not in the cool way he kept hoping things would be. He now had a more full and complete understanding of what John meant when he said, "Don't touch anything you find in my fridge," and swore he would never do so again--just as soon as he figured out where he was, what exactly what he'd have sworn was an unopened bottle of beer had done to him, and where he'd left his car.
First step: call John, so he could get the 'yelling at Chas' portion of the festivities over with. The only phone he could find was definitely not his, as it came with a picture of a hot girl sitting on the hood of a sweet car as the wallpaper. Either the owner of the phone had downloaded it off the internet and was in desperate need of a life, or had a way better life than Chas. After a couple of misdials, Chas remembered John's number, but it seemed to be disconnected. "C'mon, John, can't you remember to pay the bill just this once?" he muttered.
But he had more immediate concerns, in the form of the Chihuahua now whining at the door. Chas figured he'd better do something about that before he had to clean up the mess. "All right, come on, little guy. Girl. Whatever you are." He knelt down to check the tags. "Mojo. Come on, Mojo. Let's, uh. Go for walkies. Whatever."
First step: call John, so he could get the 'yelling at Chas' portion of the festivities over with. The only phone he could find was definitely not his, as it came with a picture of a hot girl sitting on the hood of a sweet car as the wallpaper. Either the owner of the phone had downloaded it off the internet and was in desperate need of a life, or had a way better life than Chas. After a couple of misdials, Chas remembered John's number, but it seemed to be disconnected. "C'mon, John, can't you remember to pay the bill just this once?" he muttered.
But he had more immediate concerns, in the form of the Chihuahua now whining at the door. Chas figured he'd better do something about that before he had to clean up the mess. "All right, come on, little guy. Girl. Whatever you are." He knelt down to check the tags. "Mojo. Come on, Mojo. Let's, uh. Go for walkies. Whatever."
