ourshadypast (ourshadypast) wrote in helgashill, @ 2013-05-18 21:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | alexander derrick, wayne hopkins |
WHO: Alex and Wayne
WHERE: 'the street'. I'm going to say Fat Friar lane, since Alex and Wayne both live on it.
WHEN: Saturday night
STATUS: in progress
It had been a rough few weeks for Alex. First, Orpington had threatened him with exposure. Then, the big bad (or at least, bad if you were bad) Gawain Robards had turned up. Then a murder, and then an investigation. Alex felt like he was on borrowed time. He wanted more than anything to leave, just piss off back to London, but in the midst of the investigation that was bound to just rouse more suspicion. So he held tight, tried to keep his head down, and waited for suspicion to fall on him, as it seemed it did on everyone eventually. He wasn't just afraid of people thinking he was the murderer, he was afraid of being exposed for everything else he had done. And of course, the best way to keep a low profile was to get thoroughly, thoroughly drunk. Well, it was the best way to stop worrying about keeping a low profile anyway.
Alex had already been sent home from the Salty Badger, whose staff knew well enough when to stop serving somebody, and had staggered home to drink some alcohol he knew he already had there. He had drunk some more, and got a craving for fish and chips. However, on his way to the Fat Fryer, he had felt very tired. He had walked far enough. He needed a rest. This kerb was a good place to rest. He sat down and then slowly, gracefully, keeled over. The kerb was hard, but to Alex it felt comfortable as the softest feather bed.