mj watson says (youhitjackpot) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-09-10 01:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !walking dead, *narrative, mary jane watson |
narrative: mary jane stumbles into another door.
WHO MJ
WHAT a narrative
WHEN recently
WHERE Hotel -> TWD
WARNING cursing?
Glug, glug, glug.
The whiskey burned sharp sweet as it went down her throat. Screwing her face up, she threw her head back with a pained hiss, red hair spilling down her back. Waves of bright tendrils catching the dim light of the hallway. It was the first time Mary Jane had ever ventured past the “door” into the hotel that connected them all -- beyond the couple of strange occurrences that weren’t her choice -- and the solitude simultaneously unnerved and comforted her. The fact that she had lost yet another Peter settled into her bones and hung heavy on her every single day. Oh, she put on a brave face, or she thought she did. But, everyone knew. She had...well, she wasn’t going to say that word, but everyone knew how she felt.
MJ had been goddamn stupid. She opened herself up and let someone else in. Time after time, it slapped her hard in the face. Really fucking hard. So, she was done. Finished. Caputo. She would take this night to drink her face off, and then she would just move on. Live a life of flashing lights and bodies pressed close to hers and liquor that burned until it didn’t anymore. No connections, no meaning, nothing. She would only steal these couple of hours for weakness, and then she would make herself whole again. She could play pretend really well, right?
It was late at night (or at least she thought it was), and she was heavily intoxicated, and she wandered around the hotel like she knew the place. Passing unfamiliar door after unfamiliar door. They all looked the same from the outside, and eventually, she was too drunk to remember what her door looked like. Hours passed, the buzz slowly wearing off, and she thought she found her door. Slink went her key, and she figured it was okay. She’d just stumble into her apartment, pass out in her now unoccupied bed, and drag herself into Stark the next morning. Dark room and city sounds was what she expected.
What she got? Well, it certainly wasn’t what she expected.
A dirty prison then, and MJ blinked a few times because clearly she was just fucking tripping. But when the dirty, chipped walls didn’t drift away, she turned around in a panic to unlock the door. Nothing. She tried her phone next. Nada. Journal network? Even goddamn less. Oh boy, did she sober up quickly.
So, here she was, stuck in the middle of god knows fucking where with no way to get back. And was that moaning she heard in the distance?
Great.