Lucia Carter (sparksflying) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-03-19 17:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | 2009-09-03, cels, lucia |
What do you call a 'walk of shame' if you have none?
Who: Cels and Lucia
When: Mid-morning
Where: A bench outside a McDonalds
Last night had been a blast - at least, what Lucia could remember of it. She'd gotten off work, picked the lucky bastard that was going to get to take her home, and spent the rest of the night dancing and downing hard liquor in quantities that probably could've downed an elephant. She was pretty sure she'd passed out on the ride from the club to... whats-his-name's place, judging from the fact that it felt like they'd teleported there, but had roused in time to teach him a few things and have her fun. She was pretty sure whats-his-name had finished, but didn't much care - she'd gotten hers, and once that had happened she'd been greenlit to pass out again.
Waking up in the morning, however, had been slightly less fun. Lucia was usually torn about bringing guys back to her place - on one hand, she didn't want weird people in her apartment. On the other hand, if she was already home, she could just kick them out of bed once she was done and go back to sleep. The phrase 'walk of shame' really didn't apply to someone who already had no shame, but hell if it wasn't a pain in the ass trying to get her shit together and get out before Mr. Let-Me-Make-You-Eggs woke up and put his grabby hands on.
She'd done it, though - managed to find all clothing and accessories and get out the door more or less quietly, though it had been at the expense of his laptop battery. Lucia'd needed the boost. Shame it hadn't been worth much in terms of energy output, but it had been enough to get her going. She'd stolen his umbrella, since it was raining, wiped the worst of the smudged eyeliner from under her eyes, and set off.
Of course, the best cure for a hangover was more booze, but she'd only had a few sips of bourbon in her flask and it went fast. The second-best cure, however, was some hella greasy food and if her nose was right, there was a McDonalds coming up. Sure enough, the fast-food chain appeared around the corner and Lucia wasted no time heading inside. Five minutes later, she was walking out with a bag of three bacon-egg-n-cheese biscuits, three hashbrowns, and the biggest coffee they had. She found a bench up against the side of the building, under an overhang that protected it from the rain; grabbing a seat, she dug in.
People were staring - and who wouldn't, seeing a hot blonde with severe bedhead in a low-cut, bright red sequined dress that barely covered her ass and pirate hooker boots? Lucia didn't give a fuck - she had bacon, coffee, and a conveniently-placed breaker box that was going to let her take a biiiig hit off McDonalds' electrical grid the second she could manage to stop shoving breakfast sandwiches in her face.
"Not for sale, Grandpa," she mumbled around a mouthful of food, flapping a hand at a pervy-looking older guy whose eyes were in danger of falling out. "Keep walkin'."