Arcade: Marta and Flash Who: Marta and Flash What: Arcade Time Where:Repose's Arcade When:The day after the day after Warnings/Rating: Possibly. Will update if needed. Probably some depression/angst/issues at the least.
She'd been a little bit drunk while having those post-party discussions with people, but she'd stopped before she was wasted beyond functioning. It gave her a chance to sober up overnight so that she didn't wake up with a hangover. There was maybe a little bit of a headache lingering behind her eyes, but that seemed to be par for the course lately. Turning over the party again and again in her mind didn't help things any, but she couldn't quite stop it. Her thoughts felt like they didn't even fall under her control anymore, like it was something outside telling her the way things were. Not that she was hearing voices, but just the way she felt...
The party hadn't helped. She'd tried to be someone else, someone that other people would like, and it hadn't worked. She supposed it said something when not even magic parties could get people to like you. She tried to shove that thought back though - she had an arcade date (ew, not like that) with her brother, and she still desperately clung to the hope of something good. She could manage it for long enough to have a good afternoon. Even without some magic bottle.
Without a hangover, she was able to get up and shower, as hot as she could for as long as the waterheater held out. It wasn't nearly long enough (it never was, in the little apartment over the tattoo shop), but it would work. Clean again, hair combed out, she actually went easy on the makeup and pulled on some comfortable clothes. Still jeans and boots and layers of shirts, but she wasn't dressing to impress. She didn't need to slut it up to go see her brother (again, ew), and with the simplicity she probably looked a lot more like he'd known her to when they were younger - mask down like she used to be at home, when she didn't have to put on a show for anyone. It was more honest than she'd been with anything else lately. She was trying.
Laundry quarters in her pocket (as promised), she walked toward the arcade, trying to marshal her thoughts along with her even footsteps. Good thoughts. Happy thoughts. She couldn't help the bitter little laugh at thoughts of Tinkerbell, but the goal still held true.