Tatum Donnelly (a_straychild) wrote in horror_story, @ 2013-01-23 19:34:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | complete, cycle002, emma, tatum |
Who: Emma & Tatum.
When: December 22nd, evening/night.
Where: Tatum's car + Donnelly house.
What: 3rd annual Donnelly Estate Holiday drinking night.
Warning(s): Underage drinking, drug use, unsubtle one-sided lesbian pining.
Tatum was feeling particularly ballsy that evening after work and her brief hangout with Annie that morning. Just about the second that she got home and her father had called to say he wouldn't be home until much later, she had texted Emma. She didn't really feel like spending the whole night in the big empty house by herself, and her dad had even left twenty dollars on the table for her to order pizza for dinner. But with the house parental unit free until at least after midnight, and Teagan gone babysitting for probably just as long if not longer, and so close to Christmas, some part of the redhead insisted that the occasion called for an impromptu party of her own.
Well, as big of a party as Tatum would ever personally host. It consisted mostly of spending her twenty dollars on a tiny piece of hash, and then her and Emma drinking schnapps and Smirnoff ice alone in her locked bedroom until someone came home. After which point, it was time to pretend to be be asleep, in case it was Michael. That was the catch to staying at her place. For Tatum, it was always hard to pretend to be asleep without giggling once she was tipsy, but her little weekend benders with Emma were just something else that Tatum was sure Michael Donnelly suspected but could never prove. Being borderline invisible to others and afraid of being noticed by them had perks; being sneaky about her business became like a second nature to her, for example.
She wasn't too worried about being caught tonight. She was careful, meticulous; she had a hiding spot in her bedroom closet's top shelf, she never threw out liquor bottles at home, or smoked weed indoors. She practically chased shots with mouthwash and rarely got too drunk to function. Her dad had almost caught her hung-over once, but she had pretty convincingly passed it off as a case of the stomach flu. Her dad and his mind would be else where tonight anyway, busy sulking over the fact that Brannon O'Brien would be at the York estate and he wouldn't.
Michael had been pining for the sheriff promotion for ages, a position that would have not only given him and daughters an automatic invite to the Yorks but also would have given him the right to make O'Brien work double night patrol instead of rubbing elbows with the social elite of the town. Michael Donnelly hated Brannon O'Brien and it only made Tatum like him more. He and Sheriff Archer were much better off in charge than her old man was. Michael didn't need any more power, in his daughter's opinion.
What Tatum was doing, or planning, it would be nothing beside the excitement of the York family event in the northern part of town. Everyone who was someone was there, which was exactly why Tatum wasn't. Just about as far as Tatum could remember, a Donnelly had never been invited to a York event, even as a plus one or otherwise. According to her father, the reason they never got invited was because they had always been an old fashioned hard-working family who just never got their dues or their recognition. Tatum personally assumed it was actually because they were a family not particularly recognized for their money or winning personalities.
Her mother had run off to some part of the third world with a sex cult. She herself was the biggest social pariah in CLHS, her sister (as much as she loved her) acted like a basket case half the time and was a blabber mouth all the time, and her dad was just plain surly and mean as a default mood. Combining all that with her father's middle class income, really just enough to scrape by more comfortably than most.. well, the circumstances didn't exactly warrant them an RSVP.
That was irrelevant to her though, what rich people did was whatever, and the redhead didn't even take time to pull a sweater on before piling into her little car and heading over to Black Gate to pick up her best friend. Though she had spent her dad's twenty on a less than reputable purchase, most of which was rolled into the joint that currently sat in her cigarette pack waiting for Emma to blaze it, she had still gotten some food with her own money. There was still a pizza and a box of donuts in the backseat, two of her personal favorite snacks that made a great high combination. She did love to eat. Even if she could probably eat the entire pizza and all dozen donuts to herself without gaining an ounce.
Sitting also in the backseat, carefully upon the blanket that she kept back there, was her new camera. She didn't know why she had brought it it for the drive, but since using it with Annie this morning, she had been playing with it all day after that. She had even used a whole canister of her film so far now, though most of the photographs were mess around practice shots of scenery and building fronts. She didn't really want to just leave the camera sitting in her room. The point of Polaroid snapshots, in her opinion, was still spontaneity. Seeing something perfect, needing to capture it, and having a compact little number to do it with. Then presto, almost right away you got your developed shot in just a few minutes. It was great, convenient. She had even taken up the balls to snap a few pictures of a cute girl in the convenience store parking lot earlier, before said girl came inside to buy a Fresca and some lottery tickets. She did love brunettes.
Tatum had been half-turned around in her seat, staring back at the camera, when she finally heard the passenger door opening, letting in a blast of freezing air. She turned and immediately put her hands to her dash, lowering the volume of her (obnoxious rap) music and flicking the dial to turn her heat up at the same time. It was an older car, and usually it took it's time to warm up for her. It was colder than a witch's tit outside though, and now inside her car as well. She almost offered her jacket to Emma, as she often did in moments when she foolishly convinced herself random acts of chivalry might make the other girl notice her, when she remembered she wasn't even wearing one. Explained why she was so fucking cold now. "Get in, b-bitch, we're g-going shopping," she greeted her friend jokingly instead, offering Emma the butt of the cigarette she had been smoking while she drove, "Y-You bring your s-stuff to stay over? And y-your Christmas barf b-bucket? Don't t-throw it on top of my s-shit back there."
Of course, the barf thing was in jest. She couldn't remember drinking having ever made Emma sick. Unlike Tatum herself. She was usually the nauseous one. Hell, she had thrown up like Linda Blair in the Exorcist after she drank Sailor Jerry's and cola when she was sixteen. Still close enough in the drinking past for her to have a standing discomfort with rum.