WHO: Millicent and OPEN (or narrative)
WHEN: Monday Evening
WHERE: The Owl and Broomstick Pub
WHAT: Bottle of whiskey helps the self pity go down
RATING: TBD she has a potty mouth




The back table was hers. At least it had been for the past week. It was one of the few places that Millicent was willing to go what with all the formerly dead and creepy individuals walking about. But a girl had to eat and Millicent didn't feel like cooking dinner this week. She'd managed breakfast even though that bint had taken out half of her egg supply. The back table and the dark wood bench that lined the wall had become her regular haunt. She was tempted to charm her name into the table so no other fucks tried to take her place. Tonight it was the remains of fish and chips along with three empty pint glasses that littered the table. Millicent's fork stabbed restlessly into the remaining hunk of fish. She'd eat it alright, she never left a soldier down. But it was just taking her longer tonight.

Probably because a good amount of pity was trying to fight its way through the food that ordinarily kept it good and tamped down. Okay, so it wasn't entirely pity, there was a good amount of regret mixed in that particular cocktail making it all the more difficult to bury under a good layer of grease and salt.

She'd tried to mean it when she told Greg that she didn't actually give two shits about how one little thing could change someone's life entirely. She'd tried to mean it with every fiber of her being. But it was a dirty lie. She hadn't stopped thinking about that since the moment dead people had started wandering the streets, well once she figured out they weren't from this particular reality, that is. She was a healer in some other world? Did she have kids maybe somewhere else? Was she not a loathsome bitter bitch there too? The next fry was stabbed harshly and shoved into her mouth.

Millicent had always tried to live a life without regret, to accept all the choices she made and never look back and wonder. But- she couldn't help but do that now. Maybe if she hadn't let all those teasing words as a child affect her. If she hadn't started to live her life just to tell them she didn't give a fuck, when she always had. What if she had opened herself up to things? To people? What if she had tried to be something close to an actual female... would she be happier? No. Millicent didn't want to know, didn't want to think of how it might be to be another other then she was because she was just too damn old to change everything now. She'd made her bed and now it was time to lie in it. Until she was good and dead. Some days though, she wondered if that just couldn't come sooner rather then later.

Her eyes darted up and she scanned over the few patrons at the pub. A pair of girls sat the bar, deep in conversation. Probably some stupid boyfriend drama. Or bitching about a horrid coworker. Millicent knew she'd been the subject of more than a few of those conversations as the evil bint boss. She didn't particularly care. But what she had a sudden pang for was that- oh fuck her. She didn't want to sit around talking about her feelings with anyone. Even if she did, she couldn't. There wasn't a soul in the world past her brother that she could share a damn thing with. Well there was Blaise.... but sharing anything with him was now long written off after where it had gotten her the last time she opened her big mouth. It was her own damn fault, just like everything else. She was the bitch. She was the one that kept everyone more than an arms length away. She had built up the walls that couldn't be knocked down now...

Fuck. Regret... it sucked a fat one.

She needed another drink.