Laurel Lance is the justice you (cantrunfrom) wrote in thedisplaced, @ 2018-03-18 23:28:00 |
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Laurel had tried not to be visibly shaken when one of her sister's time traveling partners had told her that apparently, back home, she had died. She tried to hold it together, but after hearing something like that, how could she possibly keep her composure? She was dead back home. If she ever left this place, and went back to Star City, she was going back to die. That was it. There was nothing for now. It would end. She'd go back to right before being stabbed by Darhk, and she would die from it. She'd managed to piece that much information together. That had to be the cause of her death. That had to be why Sara was being so cautious whenever she brought up what was going on back home. And god, that would explain what finally pushed Oliver to kill Darhk back home. Her death was the catalyst.
After hearing that, Laurel couldn't stay at the ball. No, she had to leave. She had come up with some lame excuse to Mick, and had hightailed it out of there, making sure that no one really saw her or followed. Part of her wanted to go find her sister, and demand to know why she'd kept her death a secret from her, but Laurel knew that if she confronted Sara, she couldn't promise that she would be rational. No, she was likely to say things that she would regret, and she didn't want to risk hurting her sister. She could go back to her room, throw herself on the bed, and just cry. That was in option. But she didn't want to do that. Laurel found herself wandering the ship, looking for someplace to find a temporary moment of solace.
Eventually, she found it. The bar so far removed from everything else that was going on the ship. Though her better judgement was telling her that it was a bad idea, she made her way in anyway. There were so few people there, she really didn't have to worry about anyone bothering her. Hopefully. And, as far as she could see, no one that she knew was there. Laurel made her way to the bar, smoothing out her dress before taking a seat.
"Whiskey, neat," she told the bartender. Back when her alcoholism was spiraling out of control, it had been her go-to drink when she was feeling down in the dumps and just wanted to feel better, even if only for a moment. The bartender placed the glass in front of her, and Laurel went to pick it up. She nearly pressed the glass to her lips, and then placed it down in front of her. Damn. Was this really worth falling back into that black hole again? Was finding out about her death worth a temporary feeling of security inside of that warm glass? Sure, she was upset, but was risking the sobriety that she'd worked so hard achieve really worth it?
Laurel traced the edges of the glass, just staring at it. The whiskey looked so warm and inviting. If she took a sip, all of her worries would just go out the window. She could stop wondering why Sara didn't tell her about her death, why her sister the time-traveler didn't do something to prevent her from dying back home, stop worrying about knowing what would happen to her if she ever left this place. All she needed to do was place the glass to her lips, and drink. Just one drink. That's all she needed.
But Laurel knew that "just one drink" would turn into two drinks. Then three. Then four. And then, she'd eventually lose count, and wake up somewhere where she wasn't sure how she got there in the first place. Laurel had gone down this path before. And even though she was shaken to her core, it wasn't worth revisiting. Not even for a moment.
"You want this?" She asked the person next to her. "Here, it's yours." She pushed the glass in front of them, before looking back at the bartender.
"Shirley Temple, please." Even if she wasn't going to drink, for the moment, she could at least still be alone with her thoughts and think. She didn't need alcohol to do that.