Penny Ross (deployed) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-05-27 01:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, *narrative, *voice, clementine murphy, penny ross |
Short narrative - phone call to Clementine M
Who: Penny Ross then a phone call to Clementine Murphy
What: Too much whiskey
Where: hole-in-the-wall bar in the Bronx
When: A few hours after this
Warnings: Sink puking. Classy stuff going on here.
Ian Fleming said, “Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action."
It had been amended later to say "Once is chance, twice is coincidence, three times is a pattern.
Penny had been ditched in a bar by her closest friend twice now. So she was drinking to coincidence. And this girl was drinking heavily to coincidence. While he may have taken the bottle with him, leaving her with the tab again, she paid for it, bought one more and sat in the booth with her back against the wall, her feet straight out in front of her, smoking an entire pack of cigarettes, watching the door, mulling the night over, mulling the decade over, mulling her life over, and having a good and proper sulk with her very own bottle that she didn't even bother pouring into a glass she just held it while she sat there in her booth playing with her phone (seriously Candy Crush was going to send her into bankruptcy), and glaring at people who came to talk to her.
She offended gross drunk cowboys, but the more she drank she eventually got up and danced with a few less than gross drunk cowboys, but eventually decided they were all gross in the end and went back to her booth and her bottle and her cigarettes.
At closing time. She staggered to the front door and found herself in the bathroom instead. And figured it was as good a time as any to start losing the contents of her stomach into the sink like the classy bitch she was. Like any classy bitch would do she moved to the next sink over and rinsed out her mouth. And then proceeded to rinse out the ends of her hair with bar bathroom soap and water. Soap that she was sure was actually hand sanitizer and she would surely be bald by morning as a result.
And some sleazeball bartender was banging on the door that she had to leave. Fucker.
She sauntered out, with her sunglasses on not even caring that she'd hurled in the sink since he was going to be so rude with his door banging. And obviously not caring that it was middle of the night pitch dark outside and she had her sunglasses on.
She had no couch in the neighborhood to sleep on. She really should have called first. Shiiiiiit. She had three people in her phone. Cris. Graham. And Clementine. Cris was busy and coincidencey. Graham was wherever Graham was. Clementine. If she was around she'd come get her. If she wasn't she would be that staggering drunk woman on one bus and two trains for the next hour and a half. Oh God. No. Definitely not.
She pressed the screen on Clementine's name as she wandered out onto the sidewalk as the bartender hollered after her for hurling in his sink. And she said "Shut up it was like that when I got in there," Alabama accent real thick and real annoyed as she put the phone up to her ear and walked in the vague direction of Queens. Maybe. The good news was she wasn't the only drunk idiot wandering around at this hour. Ring, Ring, Clementine.