[b][center][h2]Joel Nicolosi[/h2][/center][/b]

Eyes blinked open. The room was dark though gray hints of sunlight obscured by thick cloud traced around the border of heavy curtains. What sounded like a rumble of thunder rolled in the distance, but he wasn’t sure what direction he was facing. As his eyes strained to find focus, he could make out the shape of furniture throughout the room. It was a [i]big[/i] room and smelled of lavender, vanilla and... coffee. A particular coffee that he was particularly well acquainted. He turned his head slightly seeing the outline of a feminine figure sleeping next to him rolled up in sheets and a comforter that felt like vapor from some Himalayan mountain village condensed into a fine linen set. He rolled his head back to look straight up at the ceiling. There was some sort of vaulted design to it that he couldn’t quite make out in his groggy mind as an old, but strangely familiar feeling crept into the whole of his skull: [i]a hangover[/i].

He groaned and rubbed his eyes with one hand which only seemed to intensify the feeling. With his regular tolerance, he could not remember the last time he even felt hungover, but the memories began to manifest slowly: They had left the park later in the evening. Bruno, true to his word wanted to cook for everyone. The city had reserved the Matthews Suite for him, the most luxurious room in the downtown Ritz and likely the most decadent suite available in the city. The German would accept nothing less. Joel couldn’t remember what he cooked other than it was some of the best food he ever tasted. The haughty chef had every ability to back up his scathing critiques. Somewhere along the line, the liquor came out and then the beer and a challenge was issued to the the Rebellion team- to which Joel’s formidable drinking abilities were revealed. However, Bruno and the other Germans from Porsche would not be denied. [i]All[/i] of the alcohol in the suite was wiped out in the first hour. 

More alcohol was summoned promptly.

They went and got more alcohol. 

Shot for shot.

Beer for beer.

[url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/28/47/d6/2847d6a4208aa106bec87eacd8182906.jpg]Das boot[/url] was brought out. 

They couldn’t put him down.

Joel grinned through his aching head in the dark. 

It went on for hours. 

The suite became full of people and the power of the unplanned party exponentially grew as the music level increased like some Berlin rave club at 2am. The festivities spilled out into the hallway where a race on the luggage carts was hastily organized. As the main driver, it was Joel’s duty to pilot the Rebellion cart. Even though Bruno was by far the heaviest, he insisted on “driving” for Germany. He sat down in the low cart, knees folded at an angle to get onboard with a fine silver serving tray in his hands as a steering wheel. “Look at me! Fucking rally driver!” He howled and was handed a beer mug that he promptly downed without hesitation. “I sell fucking energy drinks! My name is Joel!” He turned the tray in his hands rapidly mimicking a steering wheel. 

Joel placed one finger horizontally beneath his nose and offered a [url=https://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2014/05/21/article-2634986-0077020000000258-859_306x516.jpg]salute[/url] before mockingly goose stepping over to his cart. 


“Oh, you motherfucker!” He heard Bruno guffaw. The hallway had become crowded with people on both sides howling with laughter. 

Laying there in silence with his mind still mostly in a haze, Joel still couldn't remember all of the details, but that the race didn’t go far beyond the first bend in the hallway where Bruno’s cart promptly overturned along with its heavily intoxicated pushing crew crashing into the Rebellion effort in an obscenely shameful display of humanity- He hadn’t had so much fun in a long time. 

[@Almalthia]