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notaplanet (notaplanet) wrote in themoderngods,
@ 2012-04-02 07:27:00

Entry tags:

!thread, ♥ cora labroche, ♥ todd whelan : dropped, ♦ eris, ♦ hera

Who: Eris and Hera.
Where: His flat.
What: Comforting.
When: Late Sunday evening.

It had been too difficult to find his wallet (which he'd stuffed into the fridge instead of the butter, which was now in the bread basket) - and his cell phone had been at the ready anyway to text people - because that's what you did when you were drunk. It didn't matter if they couldn't read shit, what mattered was the fucking intent of the action. And then, then his doorbell had the fucking decency ... The fucking decency to ... ring ... while he was so far away. His eyes widened at the door, his back straightened and he turned, only for a glass of wine to crash to the tiled floor. And then the long trek started. Chairs crashed to the floor, the telephone's horn ended up entangled with the ficus, he tumbled over his own shoes and messed with the locks for far too long.

But eventually, an obviously bleary-eyed and wasted Eris stood in front of Hera. "You ... you are ... flash." And he made a 'zzzzz' noise as he moved his arms ... which made him lose his balance.

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_marriage
2012-04-02 05:46 am UTC (link)

She carried a large tot bag with all sorts of knickknacks in it for hangovers and comfort that Cora would not have thought to bring; though in some cases, things Cora had recalled that Hera would not. Paper in one hand she looked again at the address and then the door and knocked, eyes widening slightly as she heard what sounded like an elephant destroying the inside of the apartment. Or perhaps a Minotaur. She did not put it past her daughter to have a Minotaur in the building.

She was glade however, to find only a person, a very sloppy drunk person, opening the door and no half bull-half human in sight. "Eri-" and she stopped to slide her body under that of the one falling, oophing quietly at the weight. "Come on dear, lets get you into bed and hydrated and you can tell your mother what is wrong." Her voice was almost melodious and soothing; Hera had never had to take care of a drunken child, but a wounded or hurt one, many times. This was that exactly, just in a different body.

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notaplanet
2012-04-02 06:05 am UTC (link)

His body leaned forward, a foot didn't quite land where it needed to be and before he knew it, he was somehow ... oh yeah. That was a hug. "I have ... issues," he admitted to her, still not letting go. "They always saaaay ... admitting to a problem is the first step. So there," he drawled in that strange accent nobody could quite place. "Admitting mode has been engaaaaged." And then somehow, he somehow swayed away from her, lost his grip and bumped into that ugly forties armoire his mother insisted he take with him, years ago, when he'd first moved out of the house.

"Nooooo," he started as he put up his finger and tried to look serious. "I need to drink more. More is the key." He remained steadfastly convinced of that little fact, even as he seemed to bump in with every piece of shit furniture he had. "Because she got engaged. And there's a little parasite in her womb. And it's not mine!"

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_marriage
2012-04-03 03:54 am UTC (link)

He reeked of booze and depression and then the body of mostly dead weight in such an inebriated state was leaning on her and for a moment she sighed internally before encircling her arms around her daughter and patted his back. "Most alcoholics do, I do not judge you for them." Hera meant to push away just slightly, help lead them both around the unfamiliar landscape of the apartment, only to be grasping at air as he stumbled away. Her arm reached out but it was too late, he was running into the armiore.

"Oh Eris," her voice was still soft, amused at the imbalance and empathetically saddened for her daughter. Taking a step toward him she reached out to grasp his arm and patted his chest as she walked him toward the couch. "Come dear, sit down. I'll make you a drink and we can talk, hm?"

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