quotethis_muses || May Topic
Good judgement comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgement. >> Unknown, quoted by Jim Horning
Ali fell to her knees in front of the toilet and proceeded to pray to the porcelain goddess, losing every morsel of the Cheerios she’d just managed to force down her throat. She held her own hair back. What an arse. It seemed of late that was about the only thing blokes were good for, and even there, where were the good ones when you needed them?
“Oh god,” she moaned through a pained cough. She was half dressed, pinstripe grey work trousers on the bottom half and red bra on the top half. She’d dropped her cell phone on the floor beside the toilet in her haste, having been halfway through dialling when her stomach rudely decided to try and make a rapid exit out of her throat. It was close, thank god. Only thing worse than having to hold your own hair back was cleaning up your own vomit when you didn’t make the toilet. What was it again that she found so appealing about single life? Because right now, all she felt was a big ball of misery.
She stayed hanging over the toilet and finished dialling the number. She held the cell phone to her ear and closed her eyes. Her mind indulged in visions of peeling Mark Campbell’s balls with a potato peeler and stringing him up by his foreskin. It made her feel slightly better.
Her boss answered on the other end of the line. “It’s Ali. I can’t come in. I’m sick.”
“We need you in, Sullivan. I have Fraud on my back about the prints on those counterfeits. They need them by lunch. Pop some meds of some sort and get in here.” Samuel Mitchell was a bloody good boss and Ali liked and respected him, but he was as rough as guts and normally on any one day, Ali appreciated the straight line tactics he took, but today she wanted to shove the nearest microscope up his arse and call it a reversing light.
She rubbed her head in frustration. “Holy fuck, Sam,” she cursed. “What part of ‘I’m sick’ don’t you-” She was forced to cut off as she retched and threw up in the toilet again, only just managing not to drop the cell phone into the bowl. She hoped to god he could hear every forceful heave right in his ear.
“Shit and bollocks, Sullivan. Alright, alright. But you’ll be in tomorrow, right?”
Ali sat back, tearing some toilet paper off the roll and pressing it to her mouth. The phone was still to her ear as she tossed the torn strip into the toilet and reached up to grab a small white stick off the edge of the basin.
She looked at it blankly, brown eyes emotionless as she read the result. “I’ll be in this afternoon.”
Muse | Special Agent Alicia Sullivan (Original Character)
Words | 470
Ali fell to her knees in front of the toilet and proceeded to pray to the porcelain goddess, losing every morsel of the Cheerios she’d just managed to force down her throat. She held her own hair back. What an arse. It seemed of late that was about the only thing blokes were good for, and even there, where were the good ones when you needed them?
“Oh god,” she moaned through a pained cough. She was half dressed, pinstripe grey work trousers on the bottom half and red bra on the top half. She’d dropped her cell phone on the floor beside the toilet in her haste, having been halfway through dialling when her stomach rudely decided to try and make a rapid exit out of her throat. It was close, thank god. Only thing worse than having to hold your own hair back was cleaning up your own vomit when you didn’t make the toilet. What was it again that she found so appealing about single life? Because right now, all she felt was a big ball of misery.
She stayed hanging over the toilet and finished dialling the number. She held the cell phone to her ear and closed her eyes. Her mind indulged in visions of peeling Mark Campbell’s balls with a potato peeler and stringing him up by his foreskin. It made her feel slightly better.
Her boss answered on the other end of the line. “It’s Ali. I can’t come in. I’m sick.”
“We need you in, Sullivan. I have Fraud on my back about the prints on those counterfeits. They need them by lunch. Pop some meds of some sort and get in here.” Samuel Mitchell was a bloody good boss and Ali liked and respected him, but he was as rough as guts and normally on any one day, Ali appreciated the straight line tactics he took, but today she wanted to shove the nearest microscope up his arse and call it a reversing light.
She rubbed her head in frustration. “Holy fuck, Sam,” she cursed. “What part of ‘I’m sick’ don’t you-” She was forced to cut off as she retched and threw up in the toilet again, only just managing not to drop the cell phone into the bowl. She hoped to god he could hear every forceful heave right in his ear.
“Shit and bollocks, Sullivan. Alright, alright. But you’ll be in tomorrow, right?”
Ali sat back, tearing some toilet paper off the roll and pressing it to her mouth. The phone was still to her ear as she tossed the torn strip into the toilet and reached up to grab a small white stick off the edge of the basin.
She looked at it blankly, brown eyes emotionless as she read the result. “I’ll be in this afternoon.”
Muse | Special Agent Alicia Sullivan (Original Character)
Words | 470