(no subject)
Who: Wichita and Will Graham, open.
Where: ZE DINING HALL.
When: Lunch time.
Warnings: Probably not. You know, unless Graham gets all up in that freaky Red Dragon stuff I hear he's all about.
Wichita had experienced a rough return to the Barge. Rough wasn't even the right word -- tumultuous, horrendous, disastrous... and not altogether terrible, either. Her talk with Rex in the pool had ended pleasantly, but she wasn't naive. As the underdog in the running for Rex's monogamy, she wasn't going to keep her hopes high. Convinced that the man she intended to spend the rest of her dysfunctional life with was surrounded by her enemies, she began to drink. Profusely. Wichita couldn't go head-to-head with Shakespeare's greatest monologist while sober. Hell, she couldn't do it drunk, either. The end was nigh. Everything was shit.
It wasn't long before the drink made her incorrigibly social and tolerable. Her abrasive attitude was usually only the product of sobriety -- otherwise, she was a generally pleasant lush to be around. Will Graham seemed entirely easy to chat with, and as a bonus, non-threatening. He'd have plenty to tell her about, and she could stuff her face and drink from her flask uninhibited while trying not to feel so sorry for herself. His job sounded interesting, to boot, and maybe she really would learn a thing or two.
By the time she had grabbed the incense off of her nightstand and made her way to the dining hall, it felt like no time at all had passed. Readying her tray to pile with food, she began to browse through the pickings with only mild interest. Her buzz was wearing off.
Where: ZE DINING HALL.
When: Lunch time.
Warnings: Probably not. You know, unless Graham gets all up in that freaky Red Dragon stuff I hear he's all about.
Wichita had experienced a rough return to the Barge. Rough wasn't even the right word -- tumultuous, horrendous, disastrous... and not altogether terrible, either. Her talk with Rex in the pool had ended pleasantly, but she wasn't naive. As the underdog in the running for Rex's monogamy, she wasn't going to keep her hopes high. Convinced that the man she intended to spend the rest of her dysfunctional life with was surrounded by her enemies, she began to drink. Profusely. Wichita couldn't go head-to-head with Shakespeare's greatest monologist while sober. Hell, she couldn't do it drunk, either. The end was nigh. Everything was shit.
It wasn't long before the drink made her incorrigibly social and tolerable. Her abrasive attitude was usually only the product of sobriety -- otherwise, she was a generally pleasant lush to be around. Will Graham seemed entirely easy to chat with, and as a bonus, non-threatening. He'd have plenty to tell her about, and she could stuff her face and drink from her flask uninhibited while trying not to feel so sorry for herself. His job sounded interesting, to boot, and maybe she really would learn a thing or two.
By the time she had grabbed the incense off of her nightstand and made her way to the dining hall, it felt like no time at all had passed. Readying her tray to pile with food, she began to browse through the pickings with only mild interest. Her buzz was wearing off.