Chuck Shurley | God (
paterelohim) wrote in
sirenspull_logs2012-03-01 11:19 pm
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Entry tags:
wasting away again in margaritaville
Who: Chuck Shurley, Griffin
When: Thursday night
Where: some bar somewhere
Summary: Fred's dead, Anna's gone. The men need to feel their feelings.
Warnings: mention of death, drinking, language
The only answer to anything like this was drinking. Naturally. It was Chuck's only real coping mechanism anymore- not that it distinguished from how he normally spent his day, with something hard mixed into his morning coffee and his lunch soda and everything in between. But this was different, he was engaging in that ages-old practice of drinking to forget the pain. Chuck had no illusions that it could make him feel better- but blacking out would give him a night without memory of the pain. Waking up in a drunk tank would distract him.
Hey, at least he was realistic.
However, the essential problem to his situation was that the source of most of the trauma was home. Fred's blood was still in the cracks and fiber of the coffee table, no matter how long he'd spent today scrubbing it out. So he was forced to go elsewhere, to some shitty bar in some ugly part of the city where nobody would look for him.
When: Thursday night
Where: some bar somewhere
Summary: Fred's dead, Anna's gone. The men need to feel their feelings.
Warnings: mention of death, drinking, language
The only answer to anything like this was drinking. Naturally. It was Chuck's only real coping mechanism anymore- not that it distinguished from how he normally spent his day, with something hard mixed into his morning coffee and his lunch soda and everything in between. But this was different, he was engaging in that ages-old practice of drinking to forget the pain. Chuck had no illusions that it could make him feel better- but blacking out would give him a night without memory of the pain. Waking up in a drunk tank would distract him.
Hey, at least he was realistic.
However, the essential problem to his situation was that the source of most of the trauma was home. Fred's blood was still in the cracks and fiber of the coffee table, no matter how long he'd spent today scrubbing it out. So he was forced to go elsewhere, to some shitty bar in some ugly part of the city where nobody would look for him.
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Getting pummeled into a pulp by a vampire didn't help. He couldn't possibly be any more miserable. Part of him wanted to head over to Michael's and talk about it. But he didn't want the lecture about how he let a vampire in and he certainly didn't want any hugs. The rest of his friends were gone now, either because the Core took them or he drove them away. He couldn't go out and kill the monsters in the Darkness, what with the bruised ribs and his leg being fucked. It occurred to him that now would be the perfect moment to pick up drinking. What the fuck else could happen at this point?
He made his way into a terrible looking dive. This was usually whereabouts he would drop off ornery Merlotte's customers before Jumping back and leaving them dazed and confused. No one he knew would be here.
At least, that's what he assumed. So he didn't even notice Chuck as he sat down at the bar and ordered some good old English ale.
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