Angry Song (Gin)
The Song in my Soul
12:12am at night. Andy couldn't believe she was up at such an hour but she was nursing a mean headache. She was also nursing a mean gin and juice. OJ and gin, to be precise. Gin did something funny to her every time and after a while she learned to only drink it when she expected to be in a specific mood. What this specific mood was she could never say for sure but she knew it was antisocial, brash, and very very rough in bed.
Andy often neglected to show up on such nights she was expecting tension to reach a crescendo. It was like clockwork. Like some demon she'd refuel at the end of the month, only baring with current circumstances day by day through love. Every now and then those 'love tendencies' would come out. The chestnut hair girl knew not what to think of them, only that she had them. Only that she'd had such episodes since forever. The twenty seven year old chuckled darkly as she downed another gin and juice, with the song of the same music deafening through the house, "At least until Mira gets home" the journalist seems to down another double almost in response to the thought. She knows she has more time.
A number of thoughts race to her mind when she's drinking the liquid, mostly of menacing tones and dark intentions. Threats and warnings. Usually a mixture of the two. From the start the younger of the couple knew she'd something to deal with her lover -- Gin though? Who fucking knew? Doe eyes laugh wickedly while glaring at the fire blazing in front of her, cursing its warm and ever changing nature; not unlike Miranda.
"What was it about you, exactly?" She whispers into the study. It is surrounded by Miranda--both the perfect and worst place to escape from her mate.
There's a key snicking into the lock. She giggled a bit at the sound but only for a moment. Her drunkeness is not overwritten by the arrival and despite herself she's in good spirits despite the person she cursed moments before. She wonders for a moment how the girls will take to her before Miranda barges in, "You're drinking again?" There's an underlying disgust the Editor refuses to hide and yet an admiration the woman cannot, "How long?" She almost demands with "outrage".
"Four hours. I've bee-been home for a while." The slurring gives too much away to her lover and she knows immediately she's too sober to deny her wife, "What kept you waiting?"
"You?"
Pale pink lips crash down on her own, ashamed, furious, and TOO aroused, "Why do you do this.. every time?" Andy only chuckles, throat full of inappropriate banter, "'Cause you let me, of course. I only assist you."
12:12am at night. Andy couldn't believe she was up at such an hour but she was nursing a mean headache. She was also nursing a mean gin and juice. OJ and gin, to be precise. Gin did something funny to her every time and after a while she learned to only drink it when she expected to be in a specific mood. What this specific mood was she could never say for sure but she knew it was antisocial, brash, and very very rough in bed.
Andy often neglected to show up on such nights she was expecting tension to reach a crescendo. It was like clockwork. Like some demon she'd refuel at the end of the month, only baring with current circumstances day by day through love. Every now and then those 'love tendencies' would come out. The chestnut hair girl knew not what to think of them, only that she had them. Only that she'd had such episodes since forever. The twenty seven year old chuckled darkly as she downed another gin and juice, with the song of the same music deafening through the house, "At least until Mira gets home" the journalist seems to down another double almost in response to the thought. She knows she has more time.
A number of thoughts race to her mind when she's drinking the liquid, mostly of menacing tones and dark intentions. Threats and warnings. Usually a mixture of the two. From the start the younger of the couple knew she'd something to deal with her lover -- Gin though? Who fucking knew? Doe eyes laugh wickedly while glaring at the fire blazing in front of her, cursing its warm and ever changing nature; not unlike Miranda.
"What was it about you, exactly?" She whispers into the study. It is surrounded by Miranda--both the perfect and worst place to escape from her mate.
There's a key snicking into the lock. She giggled a bit at the sound but only for a moment. Her drunkeness is not overwritten by the arrival and despite herself she's in good spirits despite the person she cursed moments before. She wonders for a moment how the girls will take to her before Miranda barges in, "You're drinking again?" There's an underlying disgust the Editor refuses to hide and yet an admiration the woman cannot, "How long?" She almost demands with "outrage".
"Four hours. I've bee-been home for a while." The slurring gives too much away to her lover and she knows immediately she's too sober to deny her wife, "What kept you waiting?"
"You?"
Pale pink lips crash down on her own, ashamed, furious, and TOO aroused, "Why do you do this.. every time?" Andy only chuckles, throat full of inappropriate banter, "'Cause you let me, of course. I only assist you."