Markiplier: REBOOT

Episode 5: Back to the Drawing Board {revised}

Author's Note (PLEASE READ):Firstly, I want to say that I am just way to excited to post this chapter to bother going back to edit it, so please try to ignore anything you see or try to point it all out to be so I can go back and fix it later. Secondly, PLEASE DON'T KILL ME! You'll understand why when you finish the chapter.

Feedback is AWESOME! It really helps the writing muse.

Hope you enjoy the next installment of Markiplier: REBOOT.

~Sandy Clegane (AKA Sevvy)

Episode 5: Back to the Drawing Board

Episode 5: Back to the Drawing Board

Much like the first time I met Mark, I found him hugging the toilet in my bathroom. It’s been the first time since I met him that he’s been this drunk. After the events from a few nights ago, something hasn’t been quite right. He wasn’t as enthusiastic with his job. He seemed off in his own little world on the best of days. More often than not, Mark messed up a lot of orders or brought the wrong food to the wrong table. It was so very unlike him. He took pride in everything he did and for him to act like this really tore me apart.

I had just finished locking up when I noticed Mark wasn’t with us. I didn’t pay any mind to it for the first little bit as Tony and I worked to get the place all cleaned up for the next day. It wasn’t until I noticed a bottle of Drambuie was gone with a 50 dollar note was left behind the bar that I knew what was going on. Turning to Tony, I excused myself and made a mad dash for the stairs. Once I reached the top, I could hear the sound of gagging and knew Mark wasn’t in good shape. I threw the door closed behind me and sprinted to the bathroom. That’s where I found him, head halfway into the toilet bowl, emptying his stomach. The empty bottle of Drambuie was at my feet.

I was a little concerned over severe alcohol poisoning.

A sigh made its way up my throat and I knelt down beside Mark to support his shoulders, making sure he didn’t inhale any of his stomach acid. He’d be in big trouble if he did. He heaved for another five minutes before he finally relaxed. Mark leaned backwards and slumped against me, wedging me between himself and the wall… not intentionally, of course. He was lucky he puked most of it up. The rest that was already going through his blood would be ejected later. I tried to sit him up properly while I formulated a plan. How was I going to get him cleaned up? Better yet, how was I going to get him off of me and into the tub?

This was going to be interesting.

I looked down at him and noticed his favourite shirt was soiled with puke, but his pants were fine. There was some dribble dripping down the side of his mouth and he smelled awful. The strong smell of bile made me want to hurl, too. I took a deep breath and carefully pushed Mark out of my lap. Always keeping a hold on to his shoulders, I swung around and leaned him against the tiled wall. Somehow, I managed to slip off his messy shirt and tossed it into the laundry hamper—I’d deal with that later. The tricky part was getting his pants off. I undid the belt, which was a probably the easiest part, and sat there tugging down his pants, trying to maneuver the shirtless man until finally, boxers and all, were at his ankles. (I paid no mind to his genitalia, so don’t you be giving me any of that sass mouth!) I chucked those into the hamper as well.

I don’t know HOW I did it, but I managed to lift Mark into the tub, I got stripped down to my underwear (nothing sexy, just a plain bra and granny panties) and sat him up carefully. Once the water was running warm, I turned on the removable shower nozzle and hosed him down. I lathered him down with some 3-in-1 body wash, conditioner, and shampoo thing he bought the other day and rinsed him off. Soaked underwear and all, I dragged him out the tub and he was beginning to stir a little by now. Great! This could be worked to my advantage! In his dazed state, I got through to him, which was a miracle! He stood up and allowed me to wrap a towel around his lower body and I lead him to my bedroom. There was no way he was sleeping on the pullout tonight—but I wouldn’t be sleeping with him.