|
|
Post by Johnnie Rae Mercer on Mar 23, 2013 17:30:20 GMT -5
Some days, about all you could do was nothing, and that was never something that was quite copacetic with Johnnie Mecer. She felt the itch to do something, go out, have fun, do something that was a little bit out of her normal loop of things. And this was the perfect evening to do it. She’d been on a bit of a shopping spree, got herself a new dress, and wasn’t in the mood to waste what she was feeling staying in that night. She’d already sent her pet out to have fun with the rest of the humans after getting a bite, and was in the middle of getting her hair in order for the rest of the evening. She was not staying in, that was a sure enough fact. Under her breath, she was humming “Brand New Key,” a song that she remembered well from her time in the seventies. There wasn’t much that she could do about it, there was nothing that she could do when these songs popped into her head. Half the time she was stuck between the songs of her childhood and some of the more entertaining modern crap that she heard pumped in when she was walking through stores or through the city. It just couldn’t be avoided.
She took one last look in the mirror and nodded. She was looking good. The capital didn’t know what it had coming. Well, actually, it did. Johnnie getting an urge to do something other than sit around wasn’t too much out of the normal, given that staying non-bored was a key part of her method of survival, something that she didn’t exactly really enjoy advertising. She had her methods of coping and unlike some people, sometimes getting a little liquor into her system was exactly what she needed, especially on a full stomach. She normally kept sane when that happened and if she slipped, well, she’d probably find herself sitting in headquarters, trying to explain exactly why she’d been roving around in full crimson insanity. Thankfully, most of the other hunters actually liked her (cookies, the way to any scary monster’s heart) and that meant that they probably wouldn’t shoot on sight if she was behaving badly (not that she planned on it).
She slipped out of the apartment, shoes and trench coat on over her brightly colored dress. She locked the door behind her before making a beeline for the town square. As much as she enjoyed drinking, clubs weren’t her scene and at present the only other place in the damn capital where she could at least start the drinking process was the distillery. It wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but it would do, and a damn sight better than a damn club. Oh the irony. Tight dress, high heels , and all she wanted to do was sit and drink. It was probably just something hanging around from the seventies (or the eighties, perhaps), when she’d get off work and want to drink and not think about dancing. Not that it hadn’t been fun at times, but sometimes there was just nothing more unappealing in her mind than dancing, especially when the clubs (as some of these did) had poles in them where the young women would dance and show themselves off, putting on a show for free. Jo definitely wasn’t one to give a show like that for free (well, most of the time at least). She demanded cold hard cash before she started shaking it for the whole world to see.
She walked into the distillery, looking around. Something about it always felt a little bit homey. Maybe it was the lack of overbearing tech, maybe it was the fact that she was greeter warmly when ever she came in, although she wasn’t all that sure what to think of the owner. He was, at turns, either one of the most charming or most unnerving people she’d ever met. Then again, she felt that way about most of the vamps over a certain age. She just saw something in their eyes that she didn’t see in the eyes of those closer to her own age. A certain mockery of the modern world perhaps, or perhaps it was just a general distance. She didn’t know for sure as she sat down on one of the plush stools at the bar. “Whiskey, neat,” she said to the kid working behind the counter. Maybe someday someone would see that same look in her eyes. Maybe, provided she actually lived that long.
- - - - - - - - - -
notes: here we go
words: 769
outfit: here
|
|
|
|
Post by Laurel Serephine Forsyth on Mar 27, 2013 19:32:25 GMT -5
There were times when Laurel felt like she could do just about anything. And this was one of those times. Mostly because she was already well on her way to being completely shit-faced. She'd visited with an old friend she knew and they'd immediately decided to have a drinking contest. Well, really it was Laurel pretending to drink and then her friend getting completely shit-faced and passing out while Laurel cackled. She'd had enough that she had a good buzz going and that had decided nicely what her activities for the night would consist of. More drinking! Micha, of course, did not agree with this idea mostly because Micha was always a stick in the mud so Laurel had agreed to go back to the dorm room. Once there she'd promptly gotten dressed in whatever she could find and then snuck out, locking the bird in the room.
At least she left a note to Ki, telling her the bird might be a bit irritated. And now that she didn't have an annoying voice on her shoulder telling her to always take the good, nice path she was eager for whatever the night could bring. She'd decided rather early on that she wasn't going to go to Indulgence or the other night club, because she'd heard of some distillery that had fantastic rum. Laurel liked rum, it tended to get her drunker then a skunk, and she was already in the mood to get drunk. She'd proved on several other occasions that she was a drinker, not an alcoholic, but very much a drinker when the time called for it. And did the time call for it! She could just feel how fantastic this night would turn out to be, just had a feeling that something exceptional was going to happen tonight.
And did she need something exceptional. Her life had become rather boring, she seemed to do the same thing every single day, wake her ass up, trudge off to class, get done with class, then go ruin some buildings in the city. It was becoming routine and Laurel was fucking sick of the routine. Her life had been anything but routine in the past, her mother made sure of that. Things were always different each and every day and no matter what Laurel hadn't really found a boring day back then. Mostly because her mother was the biggest whore around and she'd have to find something to do while her mother entertained. She huffed lightly to herself as she tugged the jacket she'd flung on over the blue cookie monster tank top. Seeing as she had been trying to quickly get her ass out of the dorms she'd just grabbed whatever was laying around.
Which happened to be this certain blue tank top. That she fucking loved. Who DIDN'T love the cookie monster? She grinned lightly. Only a bunch of assholes, that's who. Regardless of what she was wearing, not that she really gave a rats ass what she was wearing at the moment, she was having a fantastic time. And she hadn't even walked into the doors yet! She laughed lightly to herself as she walked into the distillery, she hadn't ever been in one before so she was rather curious about the whole thing, but the first thing on her mind was getting a drink. She moved to the bar, sliding onto a stool one down from some woman, and waved at the bartender. "Rum!" She called out boastfully, grinning at the guy before her attention moved to the woman, because she needed a drinking partner, so why not someone who was already here? "Hey, you ever been to this place before?"
She let half a second pass before she replied to her own question. "I haven't, but this place looks fantastic" Okay, so maybe she was little more than buzzed right now. Tag: Joooo Words: 659 Notes: um..yeah |
|
|
|
Post by Johnnie Rae Mercer on Mar 30, 2013 20:58:52 GMT -5
Staring at her whiskey, Johnnie’s mind churned, mulling over the facts of her life. Things she knew were that for the first time since she’d gone crimson (honestly, since she’d been a vamp), things were stable and that was nice. What she didn’t know was how long that stability would last. Sure, it looked good enough for now, but there was always the chance for an upset, always. She’d learned that a long time ago during her brief, ill fated stint as Mrs. Charles Weber, learning the hard way that everything could change with the crash of car on post or the sharp pop of the barrel of a gun. She shook her head and took a slug of her drink, nearly finishing the glass of whiskey that was never meant to be shot. Down that road lay only ruin and getting herself into places where she wouldn’t remember and that wasn’t particularly somewhere she ever wanted to be again. No, life now was worth remembering, something that during that dark years she hadn’t believed would ever be possible. It was a victory, something she’d never anticipated.
The bartender refilled her glass as she set it down, getting the picture that she wanted to keep drinking. It would have been nice if she had someone with her, a kindred spirit. But the most kindred spirit that she had didn’t drink and would just sit there and watch and poke fun if she dragged his butt out of his apartment. No, that was something she was not in the mood for at the moment. Not that she didn’t appreciate the big lug for what he did have to offer, but as a drinking buddy he was off the list. That had left a few other people, but none of them were precisely what she’d call ideal. The dipshits were probably already out drinking and she would most likely be fireman carried to a club if she called them, whether she wanted to go or not (it was the disadvantage of being the smallest in the group, picking her up was always a viable option). And as for her friends, well, the only one she had around was probably busy with her pup of a husband and unavailable for drinking.
And that meant only one thing: it was time to make new friends.
As this realization came to her, the bell over the door (really, quite quaint) rang and a woman barreled in, quite clearly already well on her way to being less than sober. This was most likely the best chance for new friends Jo was going to get that night, right there and wearing a cookie monster tank. She nodded at the question, realizing that she had a ways to go before she and this woman would be on the same level. “Enough, I suppose. I am personally blamed for destroying the owner’s precious stash of whiskey,” she said with a grin. It was one of the few exchanges they’d had on her drinking adventures there. She wasn’t an uneducated heathen when it came to whiskey and she wasn’t about to let the sass of an old man stop her enjoying the whiskey that he created specifically to be drank. That thought spurred her on to finishing her second round and setting the glass on the bar, where the bartender, now aware that there would be more drinking going on than he anticipated, filled it.
“So what brings you out tonight?” she asked, picking up her drink and sipping at it. No use letting good whiskey go to waste, for a moment at least. The staff here, however, understood how vampires were with alcohol and as a result poured appropriate servings for the species. And although she drank, she didn’t do so to abandon all that often and as a result, the two drinks she’d already had were taking an effect on her mind, making her thoughts a little fuzzy around the edges. Wasn’t that the point, though? It wasn’t as if tonight was a night where she was going to do something crazy like get pregnant or buy a dog. No, she was just going to get drunk, make a new friend, and call it a night.
- - - - - - - - - -
notes: or so she thinks -laughs evilly-
words: 702
outfit: here
|
|
|
|
Post by Laurel Serephine Forsyth on Apr 2, 2013 11:14:50 GMT -5
Laurel didn't have a set plan for the night, she was just trying to let loose and not worry about anything. Make a few new friends, check out a few new places, piss her dad off because she skipped morning classes. It wasn't like she cared all that much about the school or her classes. Laurel was only there because her father commanded it of her and she hadn't found a good way to guilt him into letting her come home. Well, she probably could guilt him but she was much too proud a creature to admit that she missed her dad, that she didn't want to be away from him for fear she might lose him like she lost her mother. No, she would suffer through this until her incessant and constant request to come home finally wore him down. A bit childish of her surely, there wasn't a true reason she couldn't just accept going to school and get it over with.
Laurel was just trying to get used to the change, get used to not having a constant parental influence around her. She had lived with her mother for a very long time, she wasn't quite sure why the woman cared to keep her around. Laurel thought it might have been because her mother was trying to get back at her father somehow. Laurel didn't know, she didn't care, because she knew whatever answer would only hurt her. And despite that she still loved her mother dearly, and missed her fiercely. But she wasn't here to get all mopey over something she couldn't help. No, she came to the distillery to meet new friends and get drunk. And they had rum. She wasn't sure when the first time she had rum was, but she knew she liked it. In her younger years, foolish young woman she was, she liked to run around New Orleans with a few of her friends, pretending to be pirates and drinking rum till they couldn't see straight.
Anything to get over her mother's over-bearing and yet totally non-existent presence. How in the hell that could even work Laurel never knew, but her mother was everywhere with Laurel, yet when she needed her it was 'poof' gone. She needed to stop thinking about that. And what better way then making new friends? So she immediately struck up a conversation with the woman to her right, laughing as the blonde told her she was personally responsible for destroying the whiskey stock. "It's meant to be drunk isn't it?" Her eyebrows pulled together at that, though she was still grinning. 'Meant to be drank? Aww, fuck who cares, you get it" Oh, the always grammatically correct Laurel. She flashed a smile at the bartender and reached for the glass that he had deposited on the bar, taking a long healthy drink from it.
She pondered the question that the other woman posed. What brings her out tonight. Was she out getting shit-faced because she was trying to repress some sort of sad emotions or memories? Nah, she didn't do that. It would be too easy to let the drink drown her in her sorrows, then she'd surely become an alcoholic. No, she was just out to drink and have fun. "Seemed like a fantastic night to go drinkin'" She flashed another grin after taking another drink from her glass. "Thought it was about time to see what this place was all about. Name's Laurel by the way" As usual Laurel chose not to give out her last name. She didn't particularly like it most times, usually it was either met with distaste, people thought she was a stuck up bitch, or they wanted something from her. Hey, she was the Monarch's Grand-daughter, she was pretty damn sure he didn't even like her. Tag: Jo Words: 645 Notes: here you gooooo |
|
|
|
Post by Johnnie Rae Mercer on Apr 10, 2013 21:54:01 GMT -5
There were more than enough reason to drink. There was the urge to bury something with the state of drunkenness, keeping away memories and things like that. But if that was what Jo wanted, well, there were cheaper and easier ways of living to forget, she’d done it for long enough and she knew exactly how to slip back to that mode and walked the line to keep from doing. She hadn’t slipped for a long while, even though she took deliberate steps over that line when she was working. That was the only way to keep going as a hunter, she had to use everything she had at her disposal, given that she was smaller than the average member of her department. In fact, she very well might be the smallest hunter. But slight of size or no, once she crossed over to where her instincts ruled, well, her ferocity made up for what she lacked in size and weight. There was no two ways about it, she wasn’t something to be messed with when sensibility took a back seat.
But tonight was not for letting the sensibilities take a back seat. Nor was tonight a night for drinking for the sake of drinking (although that very well may be what it looked like to the outside world). Tonight, well, it was one for making friends. That was the official decision and it would stand. She wasn’t going to let the fact that her best friends were currently all sticks in the mud bring her down. No, this was her stand against boredom and having no one her own size or gender to go out with on a regular basis. The tyranny of the tall would be ended.
“That it is,” she said with a laugh, “although he might fight you. Last time I was here, he said something about ‘appreciating the artistry that goes into it.’” There were plenty of ways to appreciate art. And if the art was making booze, well, then the only real way to appreciate that was to drink, wasn’t it? This place was like a gallery of alcohol, the kind of place where you would expect there to be bottles saved on the shelves, trophies of benders past and yet to come. This really was the kind of place that she liked. There were no two ways about that, she really did enjoy this place for whatever it had to offer, be it art or just good ol’ fashioned liquor. There was very little that could be done to get around the fact that this was the source of the best whiskey and rum in town and the fact that both of those were meant for getting the individual completely and utterly smashed.
She sipped at her drink more. There were reasons places like these existed. They worked as social nexuses and the connecting points of plenty of people. True, there really was no use trying to apply logic to anything remotely bar like, but sometimes it had to happen, just as an exercise of mental prowess. She was more than happy to be here though, in part because it got her away from the everyday monotony of chasing one or more of the dipshits (or their leader) away from her fridge, threatening them with a lack of pie or cookies or whatever else happened to be on her counter. Of course, then there was the fact that they all had the superpower of puppy-dog eyes (and unless they were on a dog, she was a sucker for puppy eyes) and their leader had, ahem, other powers of persuasion. She really did have it good, though. Better than anytime before, at least. “Those sound like valid reasons to me,” she said with a smile as she shot the rest of her glass. Oh yes, this was going to be a good night. “My friends call me Jo,” she said with a grin. At this point, it didn’t matter if they were friends before or after this, they were drinking buddies right now and that was a fairly unbreakable bond.
- - - - - - - - - -
notes: soon to be drunk puppy buying and pregnancy realizing! woo!
words: 682
outfit: here
|
|
|
|
Post by Laurel Serephine Forsyth on May 27, 2013 19:52:30 GMT -5
She waved an indignant hand at the other woman's words. Laurel appreciated a good drink, don't get her wrong, but at the moment she was just a bit too far gone to care much about the taste of alcohol, just the satisfying burn as it slide down her throat and made her mind just that much more fuzzy, and free at the same time. Drunk Lau would tell you she got her best ideas when she was shit-faced, just about ready to pass out on the floor, stumbling around drunk. Of course, she really didn't get very good ideas when she was drunk, they were usually far-fetched and extremely random. But the point was she had a good time and that was all that mattered. Until she woke up the next morning with a hell of a hangover and swearing off alcohol for the next fifty years. Never seemed to stay that long.
She got rid of her drug problem, just couldn't seem to shake the alcohol, though she was no where near an alcoholic. However, today she had no problem drinking herself silly, she'd had a very interesting week and she was just fine with letting herself go for tonight. And making new friends, that's always a plus. In fact, she'd pretty much decided the woman she'd spotted the minute she entered the distillery would be her new friend. The other woman had just about no choice in the matter. "He can take his artistry and stick it up his ass" She grinned in good nature, her comment not really meant in any sort of mean way. But really, she was here to drink and get drunk, she could care less for the 'artistry' of the alcohol. Sue her. She took another hearty drink of the rum, once more thoughts of playing pirates and hidden treasures entering her mind.
"Shit Jo! You know what the fuck we should do? Go on a damn treasure hunt." Laurel had known the woman less than an hour and already she was trying to convince her to go away with her on some grand scheme. Not that she minded at all, in fact she tipped the glass back to finish off her rum, sighing in satisfaction. She eyed the bottles behind the bar, really really wanting to just reach for one of them. She could use her 'i'm the monarch's grand-daughter' bit to loot the bar of its fantastic rum, though she shook her head. She was keeping that hush hush, so she couldn't do that. No no. "C'moooon, whatya say? I got rum, just needs some fuckin' pirate hats and a treasure map." It was almost amusing how what she drank affected what kind of mood she was in when drunk. Rum equaled pirate to her, so there she was, thinking of her times in New Orleans and the 'piratey' games she played with them there.
Her attention span, however, was not very long and she hardly waited for Jo's answer before she was turning back to the bartender. "More rum!" Any smart person would cut her off, but she was much too determined, and she narrowed her eyes, giving the man what she imagined was a dark look, really it was her squinting her eyes and making 'gimme' hands at him. Pathetic really, but at least she hadn't started singing. Though 'A pirates life for me' was swimming around in her brain. She was sure by the end of the night she'd be belting that out, or some other song, at the top of her lungs terribly out of key. Words: 607 Tag: Jo Notes: Yup. Drunk Lau |
|
|
|
Post by Johnnie Rae Mercer on May 31, 2013 21:23:54 GMT -5
She tucked an errant hair behind her ear. There were days when she missed her wild youth. Not the running around killing people bit. No, before all of that she’d been young, wild, and intent on having anything and everything that she wanted. And at that point in time a large part of that had been Charles Mercer, Chuck to his friends and to her. It had been a good ride, doing everything they could think of. They’d done everything they could think of to pass the time, they’d tried the hippie scene before turning into more of the greaser type. They’d been hell on wheels and nothing could stop them, not laws, not police, not nobody. She slammed back the drink in front of her. She hadn’t thought about that much in years. It was normally something along the lines of, ‘fuck you Chuck Mercer,’ and then going out and doing something, normally Daryll or whoever was attractive and handy.
“You tell him that, I like being allowed to come back here,” she said with a shrug as the bartender came over and once again filled her drink. Yep, she hadn’t been cut off here yet and she aimed to keep it that way and maintain her relatively good reputation in the joint. She had several bottles of the craft whiskey sitting at home, more than anything else so that she could get a nip of it now and then and cook with them. She liked the whiskey and she liked the feel and damn if it didn’t make the best pecan pralines she’d ever tasted. Of course, those were more of a personal vice than anything else and she spent most of her time with sugar serving the vices of others, making pie and cookies as bribes to get what she wanted from people. No, she wasn’t above bribery, it got her what she wanted when she wanted it.
Jo knitted her brows, silently mouthing the words treasure hunt. She wasn’t sure what she had been expecting but it certainly had not been that. She pursed her lips in amusement as she watched her new friend start nagging the bartender for more rum and listened to her logic. The whiskey said yes but reason said no but at the moment whiskey was the stronger influence on her state of mind at the moment. “Alright, get some rum and we’ll go on a treasure hunt,” she said, picking the whiskey up from the counter and sipping at it for a moment. After a moment of better thought, she drained the glass again and set it down, motioning that the bartender should not refill it this go round.
She slid down on the stool until the soles of her heels connected with the floor. She pulled herself the rest of the way up onto them, testing her balance against the bar. Something was off, she was a little more wobbly than usual. She took a deep breath and grabbed her wallet off the bar before tottering over to the coat rack and sliding on her trenchcoat. It was more of a fashion statement than anything else, she could barely feel the cold as is and with a solid whiskey blanket in place, she probably wouldn’t feel the cold outside the doors. But she liked the coat and she’d like to stay dry in the case of a snow storm. She did not feel like getting her new dress wet and even if she was a damned pirate, she was going to stay dry. “You coming or what?” she asked, letting the door frame take most of her weight.
- - - - - - - - - -
notes: druuunk johnnie, woo
words: 609
outfit: here
|
|
|
|
Post by Laurel Serephine Forsyth on Jun 24, 2013 19:49:08 GMT -5
Laurel scoffed at the mention of telling the man himself, so Jo wouldn't get kicked out. Like Lau would get kicked out of any establishment. She wasn't one to wave her name around, but she would if it meant she got what she wanted, and if she wanted to drink in this god damn bar than she would fucking drink in this god damn bar! "Fuck! I will, where is the bastard? Hey! You around here mister-" She frowned for a moment, pursing her lips. "Fuck it, I don't know his god damn name, Nameless man can just go shove it" She gave a firm nod of her head to show she meant business in her words, though she was already so god damn out of her mind drunk that she hardly cared what she said nor what she meant by the words. Instead she grinned at her rum, tipping it to her lips and drinking it down with a satisfied 'ah'.
Laurel then spent a moment playing the glare game with the man behind the counter, unaware that he wasn't really playing the game. She wanted more rum, and even though she was well past drunk, she always got what she wanted. Of course, when Jo mentioned going on that treasure hunt Laurel practically flung herself over the counter so she could whisper to the man behind the counter. Most of her words were a bunch of blundered words, however there was a very clear, hundred, and monarch's supply, and something of a deal. Perhaps the bartender actually understood whatever Laurel was trying to say, as he let her take the not quite full bottle of rum he'd been pouring out for her. She grinned at her first bit of loot, though there was a crumpled pile of money she'd pulled out of her back pocket for that specific bottle.
"BITCH! Look! No treasure hunt is complete without fucking rum" She hoisted the bottle over her head before taking a long sip as she stumbled from the bar, gained her footing and strutted, yes strutted, her way to the door where Jo was at. Laurel was utterly and completely unaware of the cold, sporting a pair of jeans and a sweater that wouldn't be nearly warm enough for a human. She wasn't human though. She was a vampire, a fucking onyx and she was damn proud of that shit. "Fuck I'm coming! You not see me? Look at this shit, fuck I need like..a pirate hat" Laurel grinned then, taking another long swig of the rum. "Jo, jo jo, we need to go get pirate hats, right now, we CANNOT have a treasure hunt without pirate hats!"
Laurel wasn't joking, not at all, and she marched right out the door, slinging her arm through Jo's as she went, ready to drag her ass out of the door and into the cold. Though it wasn't felt by the woman. "Yo ho and a mother fuckin' pirates life for me!" Her words were crudely yelled out, completely out of tune and yelled as loud as she could into the cold air, ready to let the entire town know that Laurel fucking Forsyth was on a god damn pirate hunt! Tag: jo Words: 553 Notes: Um..I'm sorry about her and the word count |
|
