Dock: Clementine & Declan
[Clementine, she reckoned he was right 'bout not dolling up. She didn't bother doing a thing to herself before leaving the guest room and padding herself on down to the docks in a blue FDNY t-shirt to mid thigh, bare feet and boyshorts in frilly grey. Her hair was tucked up and messy, and she had a bottle with her, which she was already swigging from. She didn't bother none with glasses, because she and Declan were kin, and she wasn't a whole lot discerning just then.
Truth was, she'd already hit his vodka earlier, and she was real well on her way to being wasted as could be. Wouldn't make her feel a lick better 'bout a thing, but she wasn't counting hard on feeling better. She was counting on numbing it all down, and then she'd move on, just like Murphys did when life treated them real wrong. No point in crying loud and gnashing teeth for days and weeks, and that just made crow's feet come on early.
Clementine was willing to give herself one damn day to mourn all her losses, and then she was real determined to go back to being cutthroat as could be. She reckoned it wouldn't be so hard; she'd spent most of her damn life being a bitch, and being decent was new some. Didn't suit her right any, and that was what she told herself as she stepped onto that wood dock and swayed her tipsy self on up to her brother.
Her eyes were puffy some, but she wouldn't own to crying.]