sour

He hadn't expected to be quite so successful so when Darya crashed into him he was a bit caught off. His breath left him in an explosive 'hurck' sound that didn't quite qualify as a yelp and sounded a bit more like a burp/dry heave hybrid. Luckily for Jupiter he was past the point of being able to appreciate pain fully so while a couple places on his chest stung enough for him to sourly rub at with a paw he was largely unscathed. "You're awfully heavy," he complained before prompting forgetting the whole ordeal. He had bigger issues to deal with.

Darya lay down beside him, which was exactly what he'd wanted in the first place, and asked him if he drank often on bad days. Affronted, Jupiter rolled over onto his side so he could look at her. "No," he said in a wounded, I'm-so-misunderstood voice. Heavy drinking was for the things not so easily forgotten. "I fuck on bad days." And good days. "This is the worst days." It didn't even occur to him that his statement made no sense. In his mind it accurately summed up his feelings.

He rolled back over onto his back and threw a paw over his eyes. "I'm getting married to someone I don't know on a day I didn't pick out, because I'm the best nephew ever." And he hated it. These were the worst days of his life. Tyrian was awfully lucky Jupiter liked him. "It's the worst, Darya! Can you picture me married to anyone?" He shook his head sadly, his eyes still covered. "Such bullshit..."