The radio blares as I make my way out of the parking lot of Wolfram and Hart, heading down towards my apartment. To be alone. No, I don't count the new puppy I got. I can't even get him to come near me, he smells the demon inside and hides. I only know he's still alive 'cause the food's gone when I come home.
All this sucking is pissing me off.
I groan and tighten my hands on the steering wheel and doing my best to forget everything going on. Not like I could, it slapped me in the face every time I looked in the mirror and saw nothing there.
"Fuck this." I grip the wheel and spin it almost totally around, hearing screeching of tires in the distance as I make a U-turn from the direction of my apartment and head towards a bar. They're one of the only places in LA that will make real bloody Mary's. I need a few...maybe ten or so right about now.
I pull up and hop out of the car, leaving it parked in the closest spot to the door. "Oh, I'll remember it's in the blue spot." Even when I'm drunk. How nice of them to keep everything color coded. I march my way into the bar, pulling off my suit jacket and pulling my hair down as I head over to the bar. "Real bloody Mary please." I slap down a ten and sit down at the stool by the bar. "I have a high tolerance so don't worry about me getting drunk so no stopping them from coming. Okay?"
“What?’ I stare at Spike as though he’s gone mad while thinking that’s the best idea he’s had thus far. I frantically try to remember if I have any bottles left here, but then realize that Angel took them away. Said he had guests and asked for them. He took them away though, I’m not a fool. I may have been naïve at one point, but I was never a fool.
“Go,” Spike stretches the words, “out for a sodding drink. C’mon mate, you’re wound up so tight you make barb wire look soft.”
That has to be the most grammatically incorrect metaphor I’ve ever heard. I blink at him before looking down at the load of work stacked up on my desk. “I’ve work to do,” I mutter unconvincingly.
“Uh huh and it’ll still be here tomorrow. Look, Percy, weren’t you gonna change things here? Not runnin’ yourself into the ground and oh…I dunno…dyin’? Would be good yeah?”
He…has a point. I frown up at him and then sigh when he makes a motion with his hand that’s the universal sign that I am to follow him. And I really don’t know why, I’m guessing the stress of the day is getting to me, but I find myself doing exactly that. Rubbing a hand over my face, I trail after him tiredly, across the floor where no one is to be found, into the lift and pausing at a car…that is not mine. “This isn’t my car,” I point out feebly.
“So? Like peaches is gonna notice. Live on the wild side for a change, c’mon.”
Oh, the bloody hell with it. Another sigh gets out as I slip behind the wheel. “I’m blaming you if he finds out,” I mutter, staring the car and driving out of the garage.
“No worries, ‘M sure he’ll do that for you,” Spike smirks, “Take a left at the end, I know just the pub for us. You’re gonna love it.”
Well, now that he told me that, I’m very much afraid.
All this sucking is pissing me off.
I groan and tighten my hands on the steering wheel and doing my best to forget everything going on. Not like I could, it slapped me in the face every time I looked in the mirror and saw nothing there.
"Fuck this." I grip the wheel and spin it almost totally around, hearing screeching of tires in the distance as I make a U-turn from the direction of my apartment and head towards a bar. They're one of the only places in LA that will make real bloody Mary's. I need a few...maybe ten or so right about now.
I pull up and hop out of the car, leaving it parked in the closest spot to the door. "Oh, I'll remember it's in the blue spot." Even when I'm drunk. How nice of them to keep everything color coded. I march my way into the bar, pulling off my suit jacket and pulling my hair down as I head over to the bar. "Real bloody Mary please." I slap down a ten and sit down at the stool by the bar. "I have a high tolerance so don't worry about me getting drunk so no stopping them from coming. Okay?"
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“Go,” Spike stretches the words, “out for a sodding drink. C’mon mate, you’re wound up so tight you make barb wire look soft.”
That has to be the most grammatically incorrect metaphor I’ve ever heard. I blink at him before looking down at the load of work stacked up on my desk. “I’ve work to do,” I mutter unconvincingly.
“Uh huh and it’ll still be here tomorrow. Look, Percy, weren’t you gonna change things here? Not runnin’ yourself into the ground and oh…I dunno…dyin’? Would be good yeah?”
He…has a point. I frown up at him and then sigh when he makes a motion with his hand that’s the universal sign that I am to follow him. And I really don’t know why, I’m guessing the stress of the day is getting to me, but I find myself doing exactly that. Rubbing a hand over my face, I trail after him tiredly, across the floor where no one is to be found, into the lift and pausing at a car…that is not mine. “This isn’t my car,” I point out feebly.
“So? Like peaches is gonna notice. Live on the wild side for a change, c’mon.”
Oh, the bloody hell with it. Another sigh gets out as I slip behind the wheel. “I’m blaming you if he finds out,” I mutter, staring the car and driving out of the garage.
“No worries, ‘M sure he’ll do that for you,” Spike smirks, “Take a left at the end, I know just the pub for us. You’re gonna love it.”
Well, now that he told me that, I’m very much afraid.
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