Rook

Flatmates

Felicity

"Well it's good to know I'll be in good company when the men-in-white-coats come and take me away!" She laughed, coughing a little from the strength of the whiskey.
She stood up to go to the bathroom but her legs seemed to have forgotten how to work. As she pushed herself up to her feet her knees buckled slightly, giving way for an unabashedly drunken stumble.
"Weeeelp...", began Felicity, before a quaint hiccup. "My mother always told me 'If you can stand up without falling over, you're good for another'!"
She laughed at her own musings as she often did and made her way to the bathroom before returning once more, landing on the couch with a rag-doll-like thump.

Flatmates

Felicity

"Urgh, awful as usual", she said disdainfully, taking a sip of her whiskey. "I mean, I understand we all have to work to earn a living, right? And I get we might not be where we want to be right now, but Christ, never get an entry-level job in marketing: you are everyone's bitch."
Felicity always hoped a publisher, like an angel, would swoop down and carry her writing dreams to glory. But, with five uneventful years under the belt, her hope has resided to fantasy, then fantasy to dismissed thoughts. She was a 'marketing-monkey'; trained and whipped into shape to 'Get those goddamn sales on my desk, Felicity!' until it became her most despised thing to do in the whole world. But she could not complain much: bills were paid, food was eaten.
"I need to get out of there, Micah", she took another drink. "I'm gunna go crazy"

Flatmates

Felicity

"No, it doesn't" she said with a mischievous smile, "And I am never calling you 'Daddy'". She lightly punched him on the arm with a chuckle.
"Well, here's to not being able to remember any of our horrible lives come the morning!". She knocked back the first glass without so much as pausing to consider the taste.

Flatmates

Felicity

She tossed a dart and just so happened to have the luck that it successfully hit a bottle on the first try.
"So, what are we drinking, Father Micah?"

Flatmates

Felicity

"You know, this might be the first time you've ever let me look into this cabinet!"
She perused the selection, pretending to be deep in thought about the choice before her, when, in fact, she had no idea the difference between any of them. Felicity learnt to drink cheap, and she learned to like it - the selection was a luxury she could never really afford. She turned to Micah with a swish of her long brown hair.
"What would the expert recommend?", she asked with a warm smile.

Flatmates

Felicity

In a fantastic display of sarcasm, she pressed her palms together, "Oh please, Saint Micah, forgive me for I have sinned!". She childishly chuckled. She edged closer, "C'mon, lets get trashed this evening! I know you want to!"

Flatmates

Felicity
"Hey! I drink when I want to, damn it", she said with a mixture of playfulness and irritation. She pointed to Micah's beer, "And it's not fair you drinking that in front of me if I'm not allowed!" She grinned.

"Besides, since when did you become Mr. Goody-two-shoes, huh?" She poked him in the belly with a finger. "You, mister, are hardly a paradigm of virtue."

She hiccuped, a tiny globule of drool escaping down the corner of her mouth in a most unflattering manner. She promptly wiped it away, continuing her childish grin.

Flatmates

Felicity

"Eeeeh... half-full"

'Half-full' was an easy task for her. She struggled at 'full' but beneath that she was accustom to. She had been carrying her hangover for so many days the stinging ache behind her eyes had subsided to a manageable throb she barely felt.

"I guess I probably need more now", she moaned as she strained her neck to look behind her into the kitchen - on the scout for bottles she hadn't previously noticed.

Flatmates

Felicity
"You know what? I care not", Felicity childishly chuckled at her own rhyme.

"Anyway, nearly gone: you'll be out of your misery"

She swigged the rest of the bottle, examining it carefully (As carefully as she could in her drunken state) then gently placed it upon the floor next to the couch. Her head was swimming: a pleasant swim that let her forget what was going on; a balance between blind amnesia and functionality.

"Anyway", she slightly slurred "How was your day?"

Flatmates

Felicity takes a drink of her Polish vodka.

"Hey, this stuff is forty years old - it would be a crime not to drink this!"

She takes another swig, the stench of almost pure alcohol profound in the air.

"I've had a long day, you can't complain."

Her face looked long and withdrawn, as if she deeply wished to forget the events of the day: bagged eyes black with fatigue, makeup partially smeared without care for its re-appliance, clothes creased from several days continuous wear.