Ugh... She felt like someone had cracked her head open with an axe... The sculptress woke up with a strange, wet sensation on her cheek, followed by a melodic meow. As her eyelids parted, she came face to face with a cat, looking at her in a way that almost felt like disapproval. She swore it almost shoot its head at some point. She rose from her intoxicated slumber slow and painfully, groaning and rubbing at her sore head the whole way. She'd made quite a mess of herself, her hair far more dishevelled than it ever would on the average morning, her Kimono loose beyond any measure of elegance, right at the edge of falling off entirely. Her back too felt pretty sore, understandably so after sleeping on the cold, hard floor:
"Now how did you get here...?", she asked the cat, petting it as it merely mewed in response. And as her neck twisted left and right, she furrowed her brow and scratched her head, disoriented, "...And more importantly, how did I get here...?"
Even after adjusting her Kimono as she stood back up, Alisa vaguely remember how the outfit should look like, enough to tell some of it was missing. The fabric once went beyond her knees, and now looked roughly, haphazardly cut above them. Merely glancing at the window cause a hangover-induced aversity to bright lights, prompting yet another groan as she squinted, averting her gaze.
"Everyone still out cold huh...", noted the sculptress, casting her gaze over to Alice and a few other friends who came along. Understandably so... From a highly tolerant drinker like Alisa who hadn't gotten a hangover in years, the kind of booze fest to make her feel like she'd been kicked in the head, gut, whatever, over and over again, must have been quite intense indeed. She couldn't blame them for needing to sleep it off for a few more hours... Well, maybe a day or two. With the heavy soreness in her head, she too a while to notice the actual bachelorette was nowhere to be seen, "Wha... Where's Alice...?!"
For once Alisa felt visibly unnerved, as having lost the bride seemed like the worst possible outcome, most likely ruining her wedding and irreparably marking the sculptress as the worst maid of honor in history. She spotted some of their friends lying around, one of them all but hiding under the covers with naught but a pair of bunny ears peeking outside.
Had they brought another girl home with them...? But, where... As she tried to recall what happened however, she drew nothing but blanks, all but wincing as the headache grew stronger at her efforts to remember. Ugh... Just what the hell did they do last night?! Only a single thought yet lingered in her hungover mind: Totally worth it.