He didn’t often have nights he couldn’t remember, but when he did, they were incredible- even if he didn’t know a single detail about whatever happened. Oftentimes they were nights full of dancing and drinking and making deals that Barnaby knew he would never ever fulfill. Sometimes they involved going home with a beautiful woman and sneaking out the next morning before she awoke- Barnaby certainly wasn’t one for commitment by any standards. He really had it all figured out, as far as he was concerned. Get laid and get out before anyone knew what happened, other than the pair of them. Of course, he spoke like this happened far more often than it actually did, as Barnaby spent far more time trying to work on various evil plans than trying to hookup with someone he happened to meet at a bar the night before.
Actually, no- he did remember something. A brief spark of a thought came to him in between the pounds against his forehead. He had met with Clementine, the orange girl, the night before. Why he had agreed to meet her he wasn’t sure, but he knew it wouldn’t be any sort of date. In fact, he did his best to make that entirely clear. She wasn’t his type, not by a longshot, and she always got in his way. What if she found out about his plans? Not that that was currently anything important, and not nearly as present as the pain in his head. Just exactly how much had he had to drink the night before? Was Clementine involved? Honestly, everything after the start of the night was a blur.
He scrunched his face up a few times, trying to remove the pressure on his forehead, before he even tried to start moving. And even before that, he noticed something a bit more- a kick against his leg. But how? This was his apartment, his bed. One of Barnaby’s many rules about hookups was the fact that they couldn’t happen at his apartment… Obviously that one was broken. Another moment passed and he realized he wasn’t wearing pants, or a shirt, or even underwear. Well that was a new one. He searched his mind for any other memories of the previous night, only coming up with ideas about, well, sex. And he couldn’t even be sure if those were true, seeing as he wasn’t even sure who he was in bed with at the current moment in time. The poking at his shoulder was enough to make him move it, and enough to start him on the path of waking up- which was considerably more challenging with a hangover.
It only took one word, however, for his eyes to shoot open, allowing the blinding light to peak in through the blinds. What time was it? No, that didn’t matter. The voice did.
Had they? No. They couldn’t have, although all evidence seemed to point towards it. He sat up as she spoke, making sure he was fully covered with the blankets, ”Did we…” he repeated her words, the sleep still heavy in his voice, ”I think… I think all signs point to yes.” Barnaby pointed to her bralette, ”It’s cute, though.”