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EP - Post phone call, pre Granny's
Jun. 6th, 2012 09:19 pm Well, the day could have gone better.
She's not proud of the way she'd acted at work, but Graham hadn't seemed keen on talking, and she sure didn't feel like she had much to say to him, so it was what it was, and now it's over, and she can at least not worry about it for a few more hours.
...Ish.
Honestly, the night in -- Chinese food, ice cream, and chick flick -- with Mary Margaret had helped more than she'd be willing to admit out loud...but now the food is in the fridge, the ice cream is gone, the movie's over, and Mary Margaret is in the bath, nearly pushed there by Emma, who'd then glanced through the linen closet looking for anything containing the words "lavender" or "aromatherapy" before handing them through the slightly-cracked bathroom door and reminding the occupant to stay, dammit, and relax.
The problem, of course, is that leaves her at loose ends, and she hates loose ends. Being there gives her a distinct and unwelcome sense of instability. She needs something to do, someone to talk to, something to think about that isn't the sadness in Mary Margaret's eyes or the guilt in Graham's.
Well...she pauses in the door to her room, considering. There's one errand she'd put off last night, but she may as well get it done, now. Slipping on black ankle boots and a light, loose black knit sweater over her tank and jeans, she grabs the envelope on her bedside table and heads back into the hallway.
"Open sesame," she says, and a glint of light shows through the crack of the linen closet door.
Inside, she makes for the bar, puts the wad of cash down. "Okay," she says. "Here's five thousand. Go ahead and put a thousand on my tab, a thousand on Mary Margaret's, and put the rest on Michael Westen's, will you? Maybe this way he won't get himself killed in another universe scraping together rent."
The money disappears, replaced by a receipt that Emma reads, and then pockets.
"And one more thing. While I'm here, go ahead and blow some of that tab for me. One bottle of Johnny Walker, blue."
She's not proud of the way she'd acted at work, but Graham hadn't seemed keen on talking, and she sure didn't feel like she had much to say to him, so it was what it was, and now it's over, and she can at least not worry about it for a few more hours.
...Ish.
Honestly, the night in -- Chinese food, ice cream, and chick flick -- with Mary Margaret had helped more than she'd be willing to admit out loud...but now the food is in the fridge, the ice cream is gone, the movie's over, and Mary Margaret is in the bath, nearly pushed there by Emma, who'd then glanced through the linen closet looking for anything containing the words "lavender" or "aromatherapy" before handing them through the slightly-cracked bathroom door and reminding the occupant to stay, dammit, and relax.
The problem, of course, is that leaves her at loose ends, and she hates loose ends. Being there gives her a distinct and unwelcome sense of instability. She needs something to do, someone to talk to, something to think about that isn't the sadness in Mary Margaret's eyes or the guilt in Graham's.
Well...she pauses in the door to her room, considering. There's one errand she'd put off last night, but she may as well get it done, now. Slipping on black ankle boots and a light, loose black knit sweater over her tank and jeans, she grabs the envelope on her bedside table and heads back into the hallway.
"Open sesame," she says, and a glint of light shows through the crack of the linen closet door.
Inside, she makes for the bar, puts the wad of cash down. "Okay," she says. "Here's five thousand. Go ahead and put a thousand on my tab, a thousand on Mary Margaret's, and put the rest on Michael Westen's, will you? Maybe this way he won't get himself killed in another universe scraping together rent."
The money disappears, replaced by a receipt that Emma reads, and then pockets.
"And one more thing. While I'm here, go ahead and blow some of that tab for me. One bottle of Johnny Walker, blue."