Hiding from Daylight

This bitlet was inspired by the Counting Crows song "Hangin' Around", and these lines in particular: "We spent all day getting sober / Just hiding from daylight." Despite my post last night, I deny all personal experience in the matter of hangovers (at least this morning). I feel fine, thank-you-very-much. *grin*

Hiding from Daylight

"We have to get up." There was a reply, but I couldn't hear it. I pulled the pillow off my cousin's head (moving carefully so as not to jar the large animal clinging to my head). "What?" He flailed wildly for a moment, his eyes squinched closed, fingers grasping for the pillow. Failing this, he turned and buried his face in the mattress. "We have to get up, Pippin."

This time he turned his head slightly so I could hear him. "Why?"

I bashed the pillow across the back of his head, which led to two immediate consequences: the animal on my head dug its claws in from the suddenness of the movement; and Pippin moaned. "Because," I said through gritted teeth, "we are supposed to have luncheon with my mother. And father. And Aunt Dahlia and Aunt Forsythia. In an hour."

Pippin rolled over and squinted at me. "Tell them we're sick."

I rolled my eyes (although this hurt, and the animal--had it been a cat?--was replaced by a hammer, pounding rhythmically at a place behind my right eyeball). "And what will they think then?"

Pippin sat up a little and reached past me for a mug of water on the bedside table. "They can think whatever they want," he grumbled. "I have no intention of getting out of bed today. Period." He set the mug back in its place with exaggerated care.

There was a rap at the door, and a moment later my mother's voice. "Merry?" she said. "Pippin?" Her voice did not bode well.

"Oh sweet Valar," squeaked Pippin, and dove beneath the covers.

"Coward!" I pulled my robe on and the door open in that order.

My mother is a formidable personage at any time. When she is dressed for a formal luncheon as the wife of the Master, and glaring at you with those fearsome Took-green eyes, and you in your turn are wearing only a tatty dressing gown, and have a hangover the size of Arda ravening at your head, and your cousin is trembling like a leaf under the blankets behind you... Well. The situation did not find me at my best, and shall we leave it at that?

"So, Merry." She looked at me, one scathing glance up and down, and snorted. "What shall I tell the Aunts?"

"Ahh," I said.

"I could tell them..." She paused as if in thought, beginning a slow circuit of the room, tapping her chin with one maincured finger. "Hmm. I could tell them that you are not feeling well."

"Perhaps that would be best," I said with relief.

"What do you think?" she asked, poking one of the lumps on my bed.

Pippin yelped and then pushed his curly head into sight, blinking blearily. "I think that is a good idea."

My mother raised one eyebrow at him. "And shall I tell them why the two of you are not feeling well?" She grasped one of his ears. "Shall I tell them that you spent the entire night at The Golden Perch?" She shook his ear just slightly, and I watched as Pippin's head followed the small movement. He whimpered softly, his eyes closed. "And then you came back here at--when was it, Merry?"

"Erm... four o'clock?"

"Yes, I do believe you are correct. Four o'clock--in the morning--and then, then, you and this one--" she tweaked the ear and then released it-- "had a bit more to drink--" she indicated the bottle still standing on the night table, and I wished I had thought to roll it under the bed before I opened the door-- "and then you both went to bed. After several songs."

Mum ended up by the door again. "Shall I tell them that, Meriadoc?"

I scratched at my ear, shifted my feet, and in general comported myself as any errant son would at such a moment. "Ummm..."

"Perhaps not."

"Perhaps..." I echoed weakly.

"Perhaps I shall just say that you are not feeling well," she said. "And nothing more. That you--" she pointed one finger at Pippin, who winced away, though she was a good four feet from him-- "brought some little illness from Tuckborough, and that although you are both not to be worried about, you will not be about the place for the rest of the day. You are resting--" she glared at me-- "until tomorrow, when you will both be doing. My. Every. Bidding."

I nodded, a nod which started out vigorous and ended up with me clutching my temples (where the thoughtful wielder of the hammer had relocated). Pippin was also making sounds of agreement.

Mum opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Have a good day, my lads," she said cheerfully. "It will be the last such for a good while, I can confidently say." She closed the door. Softly.

I sat weakly on the edge of the bed. Pippin sat up against the headboard. "Well!" he said. "That was close. Do you have any food in here?"

I turned and glared at him. "Are you a complete idiot? We are going to die tomorrow." I poked him in the ribs. "Die. Or wish for death. One or the other."

"I woke up wishing for death," Pippin pointed out. He hung over the edge of the bed, fishing in the small space between the frame and the wall; "But I feel a wee bit better now. And if we are to die tomorrow, we might as well enjoy today. Hair of the dog?" He popped up again holding a full bottle of wine.

"You are incorrigible." I had no idea why I was surprised. "On the other hand..." I turned and opened the night table drawer. I pulled out my secret stash of sweets and fruit, not to mention some headache powders. And a corkscrew. "Your logic is impeccable."

Pippin smiled at me, a particularly sweet smile (which I hoped he could put to good use on my mother tomorrow). "Pass the seedcake."

"With pleasure."