As was previously mentioned, Octavia was no stranger to awakening in the realm of the hangover. What she had yet to grow used to, was the various fiefdoms of a hangover, and the condition she'd be left in upon visiting one.
It must be said that she had never awoken upside-down on her own couch before. Octavia was genuinely unaware whether the pounding in her head was the alcohol permeating her blood, or the blood itself collecting in her head. Her head itself lolled over the edge of the couch in as graceless a way as could be imagined.
She shifted her body, trying to at least get the ceiling to go back to where it belonged, and return is space to the floor. This turned out to be more difficult than she had imagined, as her drunken self had apparently managed to delicately balance herself in this precarious position. A balance that was lightly stolen away as she moved, and fell head first onto the carpet, the rest of her body joining its leader in a crumpled mass above it.
At least the blood was beginning to even itself out now, but if anything, the rapid drain of blood had made her headache worse. She managed to collect and sort her body in a manner she imagined would be fitting, the carpet being lumpier than she had remembered. She felt a sharp, cylindrical edge, and a pointed cone poking into her back. The very irritated, but surprisingly well camouflaged pony shunted her off with a pain groan, and Octavia got to feel the soaring joy of a pegasus for the briefest of moments before she once more landed on the carpet with a loud thud.
"Like my head wasn't bad enough...without your rump falling onto it!"
"I can hardly be blamed...I'm not letting you near me...with that stuff ever again."
Vinyl rolled over, her crimson irises surrounded by an equally crimson array of tiny blood vessels, hardly presenting a well-maintained window to her soul. "Why...do you even have that stuff? It's...it's not natural!"
"I got bored one day, shoot me!" Octavia rolled over to face Vinyl, and she could see in her reflection on the nearby mirror - that was hanging from the wall, but fortunately, still intact - that her eyes were equally ravaged by the swarming capillaries. "You...you want a drink?"
"Yeh, my throat's killing me...wait a..." Vinyl reached around her neck, noticing an adornment she wasn't familiar with. Her magic sluggishly attempted to grip it, almost choking her a few times, until she pulled it off. In the glowing, white aura before her was a little, pink bowtie. "Why the hay, am I wearing your bowtie?!"
"Oh, I don't know, honestly...I'm far too tired to even consider what happened." Octavia clamped her hooves to her head, in an attempt to counteract the pounding pulse of her headache by squeezing it into submission. It was surprisingly comforting, her hooves being alot softer than she remembered. Almost like...cashmere?!
She pulled away her hooves, noticing the pink clothing wrapped around her calves, tiny, grey clefs adorned on each one. The blood once more returned to her head, congregating in her cheeks as if to laugh at her embarrassment. She ripped the socks off her hooves, stowing them under the couch, before turning to see Vinyl's grin breaking through her pain.
"Nice socks, Octavia. Now, do you mind explaining this?" Vinyl smoothed back the coat on her neck, revealing an inflamed, bruise-like mark. "Cos I looked in the mirror, and it looks like teeth marks."
Octavia's mind was slowly grinding to a halt, not really capable of processing the situation before her. "Ummm...maybe...a dog?"
"Do you even have a dog?"
"No. You could have simply...fallen over."
"No, these're definitely teeth...and it looks like a pony's. I dunno, what do you think?" Vinyl stared at Octavia blankly, who, with nothing to go on, fell upon that ancient fallback devised by an ingenious social embarrassment fallback inventor many years ago.
"I think we need a nice cup of tea!" Octavia rose as rapidly as her aching limbs could carry her, galloping past Vinyl and into the kitchen. Vinyl watched her past, giggling despite the pain the movements caused to her head. She reached towards the record player, that was still bleating the same incessant tune she didn't recognise. She picked up the vinyl, her face somehow finding a shade whiter than its own natural tone as she recognised the artist, Bridle White?, before tossing it under the couch to rest quietly next to the tabooed socks. This was definitely a night both of them would be glad that neither could remember.