Brady Somers (bradysomers) wrote in rrinitiative, @ 2012-09-08 18:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | brady, brady and carmel, carmel, day four |
Hangover Comfort Food
Character: Brady and OPEN
Setting: Kitchen, almost 5am
After Jason had left his room, Brady had changed, then dicked around on the computer some, found that stupid survey they'd been told to fill out and figured why not? So he'd filled it out and posted it, not at all caring that only one person bothered to comment on it. He wasn't here to make friends. He was supposed to be in prison; you didn't make friends in prison, you made allies so you could survive. Or you just pissed everyone off in the hopes that someone killed you to save you the trouble of finding a way to do it yourself with the admittedly limited options in the cell. Not that it had ever worked; no, the guards at Leavenworth had always been far too diligent for any of his attempts to be successful.
And with those thoughts in his mind, Brady drank.
He found the music on the computer with only a little difficulty. He fucking hated technology; it was a pain in the ass at the best of times. But at least they'd provided a good section, and before long he had Rammstein playing loud enough to help the alcohol dull the thoughts in his mind. Only as he drank and listened to the music that would have sounded far more impressive on surround sound, his thoughts swirled further toward dark and angry. He didn't stop though, not until he lost consciousness. And even then, he held his glass all while he slept, not spilling a drop of the shot that was still in it.
It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that Brady woke, his head pounding, his stomach protesting the copious amounts of alcohol drank without food. There was no pride after he woke in the way he set the glass aside and had to rush to the toilet to retch. It wasn't the best way to wake up, and it left him feeling waves of disgust and self-loathing. His first night here in this place and he'd already managed to give himself a goddamn hangover. If this was some kind of test, he was probably already failing miserably.
Even with the disgust and self-loathing, Brady still crossed to the glass, downed the vile liquid within the glass, trying to ignore the way it having set out all night had changed the flavor and usual smoothness. "Ugh," he breathed, pulling a face. No one was here to see, anyway. He couldn't ignore the churning in his stomach, though, that hollow aching that told him if he didn't eat he would regret it. And so, without even a backward glance at the clock, Brady grabbed the map of the place and left his room, locking it and tucking the key in his pocket as he went to find his way to the kitchen.
It was dark out, but Brady didn't care. There was no one to stop him, so he could see himself wandering around during the night a lot. He'd always been more of a night owl, anyway. It was actually really easy to find his way to the kitchen, even if he'd stopped once more to stare at the gym. Once there, he wasted no time in hunting down everything he needed to make scrambled eggs. It was one of the few things he did really well in the kitchen, and it was always a favorite hangover food.