[u]Copen[/u]

It was late, but the night was still young for Copen. He left Cornerstone after a somewhat slurred farewell, stumbling out into the night. His shoulders were slightly squared as he zipped up his jacket with a bit of difficulty, muttering something unintelligible about, 'stupid zippers.' Put simply, he was a drunk - tequila shots really did hit one harder than expected. He pushed back his unruly blond hair, adjusted the black frames that sat on his nose, and set off at a wavering pace down the street. A couple that passed by giggled at him, and he smiled back in return. He was aware that he wasn't sober - and he enjoyed it. 

His home wasn't too far from the bar (thankfully). However, everything seemed longer when the floor wavered beneath his feet and shapes seemed to blur slightly. He frowned, blond eyebrows drawn together in an expression of concentration. There were still a few people out and about, but it was the time of night where clubs had not become very busy yet. Copen stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket; the chill of the air had just tainted the coolness. Unfortunately, it was not the best of ideas. Without the weights to steady him, and the alcohol only being digested further, he stumbled to the side - and straight into a lamppost in front of the arcade.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed, a hand coming to his head. Now everything was spinning more than ever. Disoriented and in pain, he fell over, onto his backside. 

[@sakurasan]