i'm with you [rush]

[kieran fergal ó flannagáin]

i'm with you, i've known it for a while,, i'm with you, can't live without your smile

[/size]

[[note: I'm going to start it in the common room and assume that Rush already intends to meet him, just to make things easy. If you have a problem with it just let me know and I'll change things around! =] ]] [/center]

Kiearn was in the mood to get rowdy. Rowdy and belligerently, obnoxiously drunk. Too drunk to be coherent, anyway. He didn't want to stay in the castle, but going to Hogsmeade was risky business, and business he'd prefer to stay out of. He'd started drinking already, a mug full of whiskey in hand, as he got himself ready in his room. The idea was to avoid looking particularly suspicious, which was difficult to do between getting out of his common room and getting down to the empty classrooms. The school itself could get spooky at night, but it wasn't very late yet, and the only problem he'd really have would be getting back to his common room, should he choose to return that night.

Sleeping on an old table or on the cold, grimy floor of a classroom didn't especially tickle his fancy, but if it was between that and trying to dodge the prefects and professors out and about, he'd probably choose the former. His primary concern wasn't even where he would sleep, however; he was much more concerned about not waking up on time or waking up drunk. He would be in good company, however, and these concerns were becoming less and less prominent.

He wasn't much of a worrier anyway, and he figured that if he got caught he got caught. It was a Friday night, however, so he didn't really think he had too much to worry about in the morning-after department unless someone was patrolling the empty classrooms in the wee hours of the morning. He was hoping that wouldn't happen, though, and was rather excited about the "quality" time he was about to get with one of his nearest and dearest, Rush.

Taking another gulp from his mug Kieran pulled on a pair of trousers, a black singlet and a wooly sweater, one that his grandmother had made him. She was a fantastic knitter, having little to nothing else to do in her spare time, and the fabulous quality of the Aran wool made her knitwear irresistibly awesome, in his opinion. Her pieces even looked halfway decent, though a bit dense-- she liked to know her grandchildren were going to be warm, and was willing to sacrifice a bit of style for comfort's sake. Kieran wasn't one to really understand the nuances of fashion anyway, and he certainly wasn't one to insult his dear old gran by never wearing the fruits of her labor.

He fastened his belt on more tightly, taking an unopened bottle of whiskey and shoving them down his pants, with just enough bulge to look embarrassing but not suspicious. Grinning at his own handiwork he pushed his hips forward, admiring the fact that he actually looked rather sizeable with the bottle there. Not that he wasn't sizeable, he liked to think his piece was respectable at least. It just looked... magnificent now, although he supposed he didn't look magnificent so much as the bottle.

Yanking the hem of the sweater down over his pants he continued sipping from the mug, running his fingers through his slightly damp hair. He'd come off of a run and taken a shower before he'd made an arrangement to meet with Rush, feeling benevolent enough to spare her the discomfort of having to smell him. Besides, he wasn't ignorant to the fact that Rush was an exceptionally pretty lass, and he always liked to be prepared, just in case.

He grabbed a package of gum, a small throw blanket that he could tuck clandestinely under his arm, and brought his mug out to the common room, where he plopped down onto the couch and awaited her arrival. The bottle poked at him uncomfortably, and he bawdily readjusted both the bottle and his junk simultaneously.

He figured it would be easier to meet with Rush here and then go to the empty classroom together-- finding someone in the castle was nearly impossible when you didn't know precisely where he or she was going to be, and he didn't want to chance it. The liquid in the mug was almost gone, and didn't smell pungent enough to arouse suspicion in anyone who wasn't within a foot or two of him. Leaning back against the armrest, one leg on the couch and one led dangling off, he continued to lethargically sip at his whiskey, trying to make it look as inoffensive as possible. Besides, a little bit of tea in the evening never hurt anyone.