0800 Hours [slash]

0800 Hours: Recording #018

Click.

"0800 hours, uh... wait, let me try again. 0800 hours – ow!"

A resounding thump as teenager hits the ground; the light rattle of a bottle rolling away.

"It's not 0800 hours, it's sunset, and it's been one day since Cam's last recording. Was that ok? Did it fit your ridiculously arbitrary counting system that systematically prevents the construction of an accurate time-line?"

"Fuck you, we could just have pretended it's 0800 hours. No one would know. And fuck you."

A small hiccup prompts a reverberant laugh, soaked in humour.

"Listeners of the future, come bask in awe, for today we witness Cameron's first experience with alcohol."

The words are creased with amusement, and are followed up by a protesting whine.

"I'm not drunk! And don't call me Cameron."

"Why?"

"It means 'crooked nose' in Gaelic."

A wheeze, a huff, a snort; someone's trying to suppress their laughter. If their throat was a bottle, their lips would be the cork, and the giggles of hilarity fizzling beneath nudge it forward with every breath.

"... D- does it actually?"

"Stop laughing."

As if on command, the chuckles erupt like a fountain.

"I'm- not- laughing-"

"You are such a wanker. Of all the people to be stuck with at the end of the world, Jesus."

"Likewise."

There's a series of gulps ending in a breathy wheeze and the soft squelch of a bottle being perched in the mud.

"Let's play a game!"

"... I'm thinking that's enough alcohol for you, Cam."

"Cye. It's the end of the world. Lighten up. Let's play."

The last word is drawled out and slurred, a playful edge dancing on the fringes of the voice. It is answered by a weary, sceptical sigh.

"... What kind of game?"

"A drinking game!"

"... Jesus Christ, I can't believe I'm doing this. Ok. I'll play."

The response is a jubilant squeal.

"Fuck yeah! Never Have I Ever?"

"... Have you ever actually played a drinking game before?"

"Nope!"

Someone exhales; it's a cool, jaded sigh, one that already mourns what's still to come.

"Have you ever actually been drunk before?"

"Nope! You?"

"Clearly. Notice how I'm not toppling over after a few pints?"

A hiccup pops from someone's throat.

"I'm not toppling! And not everyone can have a sailor's constitution, fuckwad."

"You have a sailor's mouth."

"You're a prissy cunt, Cye."

"Maybe you're just... unrefined, Highlander."

A mischievous thread is embroidered into the words. The tension cracks and fizzles.