005 Accidental Drunkeness [written & action] [open]
[Wesley thought he'd torn the page out of the notebook before he started writing, which may be noticeable by the odd angle of the view. He's drunk enough that he forgot that stage. A nearly empty bottle of whiskey is clearly visible on the desk next to him, though Wesley appears to be surprisingly collected for someone that smashed. Now you know what he's been doing for a week: brooding. Now with added alcohol. Who knows where he got it from.]
I'm so lost.
I was dead. It was over. And I was all right with it, damn it. Fred was gone. And what else was I supposed to hang around for? Fighting the bloody good fight. HAH.
But no, no rest for Wesley. Let's send him off to another dimension and throw everything for a loop. Again. After all he's not got anything to complain about, he's not an ensouled vampire or a slayer or mentioned in a prophecy or . . . I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing. The best thing about alcohol is that you don't feel guilty about feeling bitter - you just feel bitter. At least there's alcohol in this dimension.
And Fred. Christ . . . I'm trying to get all this out of my system and I can't even write about . . . I'm just so tired all the time. Except with Fred, and I don't want to suffocate her. She doesn't remember anything.
Why am I here? Why am I alive? What the hell am I supposed to do now?
. . . I am so very drunk. Laugh away, Lilah, laugh away.
[ooc: I promise this will be the culmination of Wes' brooding: I think he needs to get this out of his system before he can move on. Feel free to knock on his door (he's in his room) or write to him, though keep in mind the first person to write to him will get a very startled response.]
I'm so lost.
I was dead. It was over. And I was all right with it, damn it. Fred was gone. And what else was I supposed to hang around for? Fighting the bloody good fight. HAH.
But no, no rest for Wesley. Let's send him off to another dimension and throw everything for a loop. Again. After all he's not got anything to complain about, he's not an ensouled vampire or a slayer or mentioned in a prophecy or . . . I don't even know what I'm supposed to be doing. The best thing about alcohol is that you don't feel guilty about feeling bitter - you just feel bitter. At least there's alcohol in this dimension.
And Fred. Christ . . . I'm trying to get all this out of my system and I can't even write about . . . I'm just so tired all the time. Except with Fred, and I don't want to suffocate her. She doesn't remember anything.
Why am I here? Why am I alive? What the hell am I supposed to do now?
. . . I am so very drunk. Laugh away, Lilah, laugh away.
[ooc: I promise this will be the culmination of Wes' brooding: I think he needs to get this out of his system before he can move on. Feel free to knock on his door (he's in his room) or write to him, though keep in mind the first person to write to him will get a very startled response.]