Your name is DAVE STRIDER and you are SWORN OFF DRINKING FOREVER. You lift a hand to your head, brushing aside your bangs, and groan. There is an undeniable ache in your skull, the aftermath of a night of severely rude partying. So rude, in fact, the neighbours threatened to call the police unless you turned the music down. Twice.

Your arm is wedged under something heavy and warm. If you opened your eyes, you would likely realise that 'something' is one KARKAT VANTAS, troll table-dancer extraordinaire. You may or may not have engaged him in a round of fumbling makeouts while intoxicated.

You don't currently remember this as you are busy breathing deeply and regretting emptying the bottle of vodka that sits a few centimetres from your drowsy form.

Dave: Stop whining about your hangover