Main House
His eyes completely acclimated to the dark, he'd been sitting in some form of it, in this room, for the last twenty-four hours.

"Yeah. I was there. In the seat you bought for me. A few rows in front of Wally, Molly, and your mother."

As your eyes acclimate, as you take the other side of that couch, the side closer to the open path toward the kitchen and hallway back to the front door. Maybe your foot nudges one, but there were torn pages from his moleskines all. over.

"There was a bit of a mix up as they had to double-check I was on the guest list, and when I showed up, you were in a conversation with Leo, Elodie, and maybe his parents?

You left as I was making my way towards you so I waited for you to come back..."

His voice soft, Hollow. Like someone was strangling him. The sloshed liquor is poured again into his mouth. Past his clenched teeth, sluicing through gumline to draw that heat throughout his mouth, on the way past his dry, acidic tongue.

Call it an educated guess, about your family. He didn't see them in the cast party, but that doesn't mean they weren't there. It did mean that they were going to be there for you if you needed a ride somewhere. When you didn't come home by 3 am, the drunken writing in his 'diary' that he wanted to remember, back when he was hot, became kindling for the kind of fire that only ignites internally. The door shut, the embers smolder. Back when he stormed in and went at his liquor cabinet like one of the bottles hid the antidote and he was going to find it.

It turns out they all did, you just had to mix them together.

"Saw Elodie get tired of waiting. So did I."

He sniffs. He leans forward, grabbing the half-ashed blunt and taps it against the frame of the ash-tray, he pulls it up to his face, blowing his whiskey-breath over it and watching the ember ignite under his direction.

He puts it to his lips and takes a puff. Exhaling. Looking to you.

"Why didn't you come here?"

She was halfway through her shift, the place had been busy. Unusual for a Monday but she wasn't complaining. The busier it was, the busier she was and that meant shifts went by fast.

She and Ben were on the bar and Stephanie and Mike were waiting tables.
The phone rang and since everyone was busy and she'd just finished getting her customers drinks. She called out as she walked toward the ringing phone.

"I got it."

She reached out and picked it up off the cradle , pushed the talk button and put it to her ear.

"Thanks for calling the City Tavern, how can I help you?"

She never gave her name. Ever. She hated the small talk . Hi this is V. Yes like the letter. No it doesn't stand for that. No, just V. Yes. Really.
Thought it wasn't just V. She wasn't about to divulge that to just anyone.

There was a pause before she spoke out loud again.

"Yes, we deliver. Yes, you can use door dash if you like, or we can deliver it ourselves. "

The customer on the other end seemed thrilled with that idea. Can't blame them. Door Dash and those other delivery services charge more than the damn order, most of the time. That'll be 15 bucks and a 50 dollar delivery charge for Door Dash.
Talk about scamming people.

The customer asked a few more questions, and had been calling about a lunch delivery for his office for tomorrow afternoon.

"Yeah, we can do that. We'll need at least two hours notice, possibly more depending on your location and the size of the order. If you know what you want and for how many I can take the order and leave it for the morning crew to fix up and deliver at your desired time and location tomorrow."

The guy started to give her details and she carried the phone over to the menu screen to put in the order.
After he told her everything they wanted, she was glad she asked the guy. Would've pissed off the morning crew if he called last minute and expected this all to be delivered in an hour or two.

There were a few items she repeated back to him, and then the final order when he'd told her everything he'd wanted.
She punched in the address , the time they wanted it delivered and gave the man the total. There were a few more words exchanged before she told him thanks for the business and goodbye.

She wrote the entire order out on paper as well. Just on the off chance something screwed up with the system. Always back shit up somewhere. Keeps your ass out of the fire.

She walked over to Ben and gave him the order and went over everything. Explaining she put it in the computer already but to leave the note and back up receipt for the morning crew tomorrow.

A few more words between them exchanged before she returned to her end of the bar to collect empties and wipe down the bar surface.

Main House
It was a little hard to tell, at times, especially with the lights low to accommodate the projector screen and the movie, and the heavy sheen of you crossfaded, movements rendered slow, mood tendered low.

"Wait you came?" Holly groaned quietly, edging closer on the couch on walking palms as she tried to gradually acclimatize you back to warmth like a hiker rescued from hypothermia. "God I really needed you yesterday…"

Her eyes followed, not receiving the full inflection of your initial comment not for ignorance but… perhaps a heavy dose of denial, of hope.

You grabbed, dosed, listening to the hollow and contained, muted splash of liquor inside the flipping bottle, the wet pucker of pressure equalizing.

"No, family was set up in a hotel downtown but yeah I was at home in Rockshore…" Instead of asking how you knew, Holly just cut to it. There was no path before her where attempting to deceive you was going to do anything but do damage, after all, and you needed no help getting there.

But what was she going to do? This was a bizarre game of circumnavigating the central wound, like chasing her around a table the center of which contained an envelope with both question and answer that you dreaded opening and reading, and neither could you pin her down to get her to go read it for you and thus become your villain.

…so around we go.

"…I thought Leo was going to come out to his parents yesterday. He managed to curve that entirely, so everything's just… j-just a big mess…" What did it mean for the future of the show? Holly… sincerely didn't know, but at the very least she had a tourniquet available for at least one bleed. This was another one. Nurse Holly… wholly unprepared.

Galway Girls tribute to Ed Sheeran

https://youtu.be/KvUVAkbplr8?si=oSkeJdGC4DkbJG62

Galway Girls tribute to Ed Sheran

https://youtu.be/KvUVAkbplr8?si=oSkeJdGC4DkbJG62

Looking in

Looks in

Main House
Main House
If you didn't grow up watching Friday(1995), That's your fault. It was a comfort movie. It was an escape. He spent many hours watching and rewatching this movie, escaping from the harsh needles of reality that stab and scoured him, physically and mentally. It was familiar, something easy to fall back into.

Along with a heaping helping of drugs and alcohol to aid in that escape route. Rocket boots and an oil slick behind him and perhaps a disguise. He looked disguised.

When his eyes travel from the screen to you when you talk, several moments have passed. Minutes even. How long had you been watching him, watching this movie. Chris Tucker asking for Kool-aid happened after the weed smoking. Brix remembers because he used to get high every time the two stars in the movie got high, Back when this was a comfort movie when he first moved out and only had this on DVD and later on Blu-ray.

His eyes, bloodshot, capture you in their gaze. You were framed with blur at your edges, like he might be dreaming. The thick circles under his eyes and puffed skin of his eyelids left little to the imagination of how his night had gone. An elbow presses into the couch to bring him upright, and he was wearing the same thing he wore last night.

Not that you would know.

"Afterparty was fun. Thanks for inviting me."

Ignoring your requests of description on this movie. The words turn to ash in his mouth, and he spits them as such down the front of his shirt. Head down, he leans forward, and it's as if his hands don't know which to grab for. The Weed or the Whiskey.

They swipe along the table, catching white dust along his forefinger-print like a failed white-glove inspection, and then wrap around the neck of the whiskey.

Fingertip then to gums, and the liquor bottle to lips shortly after.

"Stay with your family last night?"

Sometimes you have to touch your fingers to the cooking surface, just to see if it's hot.

Main House
If you didn't grow up watching Friday(1995), That's your fault. It was a comfort movie. It was an escape. He spent many hours watching and rewatching this movie, escaping from the harsh needles of reality that stab and scoured him, physically and mentally. It was familiar, something easy to fall back into.

Along with a heaping helping of drugs and alcohol to aid in that escape route. Rocket boots and an oil slick behind him and perhaps a disquise. He looked disguised.

When his eyes travel from the screen to you when you talk, several moments have passed. Minutes even. How long had you been watching him, watching this movie. Chris Tucker asking for Kool-aid happened after the weed smoking. Brix remembers because he used to get high every time the two stars in the movie got high, Back when this was a comfort movie when he first moved out and only had this on DVD and later on Blu-ray.

His eyes, bloodshot, capture you in their gaze. You were framed with blur at your edges, like he might be dreaming. The thick circles under his eyes and puffed skin of his eyelids left little to the imagination of how his night had gone. An elbow presses into the couch to bring him upright, and he was wearing the same thing he wore last night.

Not that you would know.

"Afterparty was fun. Thanks for inviting me."

Ignoring your requests of description on this movie. The words turn to ash in his mouth, and he spits them as such down the front of his shirt. Head down, he leans forward, and it's as if his hands don't know which to grab for. The Weed or the Whiskey.

They swipe along the table, catching white dust along his forefinger-print like a failed white-glove inspection, and then wrap around the neck of the whiskey.

Fingertip then to gums, and the liquor bottle to lips shortly after.

"Stay with your family last night?"

Sometimes you have to touch your fingers to the cooking surface, just to see if it's hot.

Main House
For what it was worth, Holly seemed sincerely happy to see you, her mood lighting up at the sight of you — or at least the initial evidence implying the presence of you, like the way atmospheric spectrography can suggest exciting ideas about a planet's capacity for life.

Weed smoke, empty whiskey, the dialogue of… what was that, Friday (1995)?

Holly's characteristic stiletto tap was absent in favor of sneakers, sneaking un-sneakily given the soft rustle of light plastic for the dress she was carrying in.

"Holy shit is that Ice Cube?" Holly offered with a casual lilt to her voice, finally letting her upraised arm relax to allow the tail of the dress bag to drag, or more accurately glide along the spotless floor that you kept, destined to be hung in the bedroom pending a closer review, where she wouldn't linger but instead rebound right back to the greatroom to… perfume herself in what you've inundated the space in.

She faced a choice to make, because her impulse was to crack a joke, like 'What are you, a living stereotype?' but that expensive and faceted and Empty bottle of whiskey compelled her to pick something softer to open with, footsteps softer on her second approach as she tried to appear, drift in from the periphery like a ghost, one that lowered into the other side of the couch.

Chris Tucker's falsetto voice followed up: 'Yall ain't never got two things that match… Kool-aid no sugar, peanut butter no jelly, ham no burga, dayum!'

Brix no Holly.

"I ain't ever seen this one, what's it about?" It was a weak way to open conversation, weaker still was her voice behind the sandy texture like she wasn't entirely prepared to open conversation but she couldn't just dwell in silence with the movie to fill the noise instead.

Main House
This was the second time in recent memory that the fancy exterior lights that bathed the outside of the house and circular drive were out. Even the Huracàn's approach left the motion sensors blind. Someone must have gone into the garage and manually turned the lights off. Or perhaps flipped a breaker.

Upon your entrance, which would chirp with the breaking of the magnetic connection hidden in the wood of the door and jamb, the interior of the house was likewise dark. Maybe Brix was setting up for another awards show.

Then again, maybe not. The pulsing of light, kaleidoscoping in soft reflection off the myriad of glass in the greatroom at the end of the hall betrayed the fact the projector was on, and something was playing at low volume. The shadowy hallway towards the light was dark, but if you turned the lights on, they would respond. No physical removal of oddly-specific lightbulbs this time.

Just darkness. Quiet.

What wasn't quiet though, what seemed to speak volumes about the situation at hand was the overturned whiskey bottle, laying empty behind the tall back of the couch. There it sat, glinting with every off-chance reflection-of-a-reflection of light, like a small claymore mine, halfway between the Kitchen and the pathway around the couch to enter into the entertaining area.

The smoke above your head, sitting heavy like a haze in the cascading lights, smelled of weed and a bit like tobacco. The roll of a blunt easy to spot, in this home.

When, or if, you got closer, the sound would pick up, as it seems Brix was watching a movie of some sort...

A voice, yelling, but with the volume down... "...Ms. Parker! Ms. Parker! Can I talk to you a minute, Ms. Parker!"

A second voice, calmly... "See? The Weed be lettin' you know... Evil Lurks..."

If you got into the living room, you'd see Brix laying on the couch, eyes on the screen. A smear of powder-residue across the table in front of him. A second bottle of whiskey, nearing it's end. The smoldering edge of a Blunt, gently burning away like forgotten incense, sat in a ceramic ash-tray that was to be used for weed only, so it could stay inside.

Returns from elsewhere.

I like the word.

Nods.

And the underwear.

Mmmm sexy kisses. Love riding you

I feel you too... and I hope I will feel you again...

*blows you a kiss but has to go*

((rt is pulling me away now so sorry))

I feel you mmmmm

Feeling you deep I orgasmmmmmmmm

Ready to orgasm again

Ahah sorry I got into a scene!