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        HANGOVERS WERE NEVER a pleasure to have, never welcomed with open arms, but avoiding one after a heavy night of drinking, especially one like Izzy's, was simply impossible

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HANGOVERS WERE NEVER a pleasure to have, never welcomed with open arms, but avoiding one after a heavy night of drinking, especially one like Izzy's, was simply impossible. That was the cold, hard truth that dropped onto her consciousness eventually, emitting a long, pained groan from her as she blocked the invasive rays of sunlight by dragging the smooth covers over her head and refusing to wake up. Last night was still a haze as if covered with a veil that she was too tired to drag away — and maybe that was good. One thing was for sure, and that was her lack of filter when drunk, and no doubt she had blurted out things better kept unsaid this time as well. Right now, she didn't care to remember the painfully awkward moments.

For a moment there, she was almost slipping back into a much-needed slumber, but when the little things of her surroundings started to sink in, the peace in her mind became far too disturbed. Thor wasn't tugging on the sheets, worried that the bed had swallowed his mommy, and the very same covers hiding her were too soft and silky, as was the sheet on which her clothed body rested. Diane's humming was nowhere to be heard, and albeit Izzy always insisted on not bothering her mother, the older Holt still attempted to ease her hangovers with some bacon and eggs — yet now, it was silent and the greasy smell of food wasn't filling the air, but instead, a thick cloud of perfume was. And whereas Isadora's own room had its own signature sounds, the right kind of temperature, it seemed that wherever she was... Well, it was a strange place.

Emerging from amidst the duvets and pillows, Izzy sat up with her red, short hair sticking out in every possible direction, and as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the stylishly decorated place, her thoughts began racing almost as quickly as her heart. "Where the heck...", the deputy muttered to herself, shifting the uncomfortable twist of her bra while her eyes scanned the room and her mind was already falling into a familiar dark trap, causing her fingers to tap against the mattress and her teeth to chew her bottom lip.

"Oh, good, you're awake", a familiar, yet unexpected voice caused Izzy's head to snap towards the elevator, which she hadn't even noticed to be in the room, and at the sight of Mazikeen holding up a drink, Isadora's mouth fell slightly open, and she tried her hardest to remember how last night had ended. "Here you go", the woman continued nonchalantly, offering Izzy a glass, and in response, the taller one of the two knitted her eyebrows together and shook her head rapidly. The last thing she needed was more alcohol.

"Oh, God, no. You—you don't... You don't have a hangover?", she stammered out, unsure where to even begin, but it was the drilling headache that caused the words to tumble out of her mouth. Then again, she wasn't quite sure if the nagging voice in the back of her brain was the outcome of getting wasted or the creeping anxiety that always kicked in when her routines were messed with. She was used to waking up in her own home and following the same kind of steps each and every morning, but there she stood now, in an unfamiliar bedroom with nothing making any sense. "Where the hell am I?", Izzy continued nervously as she walked away from the bed and to the large windows behind her, her gaze finding the busy streets of L.A buzzing like nothing was wrong.

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