She’d been halfway through a particularly heated scrabble game and a bottle of rosé, both of them split between Jack and herself, when she’d gotten the phone call. A buzzing, and then a semi-familiar voice on the phone, one she could only pin down by location and not name. Talbot’s down here says he needs to talk to you. Real insistent about it. — She’d vowed to make her way there, regretfully changing out of her pajamas. She’s too tipsy off pink toned booze to get into her car, but compared to Mickey, she feels like she’s just gotten a ninety-day chip from Alcoholics Anonymous. “ Amazing, maybe. ” She tells him, soft smile pressed into bronzed features. “ But … you’re drunk, Mick. ” A giggle escapes, and she can’t help it, maybe it’s the warmth in her belly or the weight of him on her shoulder and the quiet sound of crickets chirping through Black Spring’s darkness making such a silly situation seem almost peaceful. “ I’ll erase anything else from the memory bank by tomorrow, okay. For your sake. ” HOWEVER — there’s a bright pink hue that twinges her cheeks, and she hasn’t blushed like that because of him since before … everything. It’s strangely nostalgic.
ROUGH DAY AT WORK, it had driven him to the tavern, and as successfully, it had brought him to the bottom of a bottle. back in the days, before break-ups and … un-break-ups, rough days were eased by simply going home – to his best friend. now, all that he had, was his CHILDHOOD BED and the promise of his father’s temper. not really the most relaxing of scenarios. maybe that’s why he–indirectly–called her, beckoning her to do what she once had, unknowingly, most likely. but the soothing premise of the past isn’t to be found in pleasant conversation, rather the constant BACK AND FORTH for which they are known. he pauses now, stopping them both mid-step. “ whoa, whoa – drunk? ” he inquires, certain offense persisting, though his voice is majorly made up out of DISBELIEF. he’s not. TIPSY, maybe. but that was more than a stone toss away from drunk. which was, itself, only a block away from wasted. mickey was in a completely different neighborhood. “ emma, please… emma, LOOK at me. ” the older instructs, gesturing with haphazard movements at weary features. “ s’this the face of a drunk dude? ” yes, it is. he removes himself from her grasp now, crossing the road with little care, to approach an empty bench. “ i mean, could a DRUNK DUDE do this? ” hopping up onto the wooden plank, damp from late night drizzles, one sneaker props itself up on the bench’s back. a horrid idea, really, but he goes through with it regardless. there’s no CHICKENING out tonight. second foot, and he almost falls, arms extend beyond his body and a balance is conjured out of pure luck. it takes a moment for him to stop swaying, nearly dropping down flat on his ass in the process, and then he does – with a TRIUMPHANT grin at that. “ … and– ” mickey starts, index finger in the air. “ cue the applause. ”
