PIPPA ESPINA
It’s half past two. Pippa would never wake up early enough that it would still be morning when she finally got out of bed — but on days filled with hangovers and complaints, she was always the first one up and about. Primarily because she didn’t seem to get them. Being familiar with vodka shots in bathrooms at parties and glasses of wine with dinner since the age of fourteen builds up a certain sort of TOLERANCE. “ I’m just always this bright and chipper, ” She quips, eyes not drawn from the magazine that’s sprawled across her lap. Another spoonful of Lucky Charms is shoveled into her mouth. “ Want water? It’s in my bag in the corner. ‘Cos, you know, I already went on my run. ” She grins cheekily, gesturing to the drawstring lying lazily on an ottoman in the corner. “ Tylenol’s on top of my dresser. Oh, and — ” She reaches off the bed and on to the floor next to her, where a bottle of Absolut is hiding. “ Hair of the dog. ” Hair of the dog is supposed to be bloody mary’s at brunch of beers with greasy hangover food, but … she’ll elect to IGNORE that.
There’s a muffled groan as she sits up, burying her face in her hands and then slowly pushing purple hair out of her face. “ this is why i don’t drink. that and trauma, but. ” she huffs, shooting a dirty look at her best friend while she eats her cereal. “ you’re gonna be the death of me. ” she makes her way across the floor to the aforementioned water, grabbing the tylenol on her way. she twists the bottle cap open and takes a long gulp, nose scrunching at pippa as she raises the bottle of vodka. “ hard pass. ” she grumbles, taking another sip of water followed by two of the little red tablets. “ i’d ask for training from a professional, but this isn’t going to become a habit. ” she waves her hand around.
