WHO: Justin Anderson and Cassie MacMahon WHEN: April 10, directly after this conversation. WHERE: Justin's house. WHAT: Cassie's drunk. There's attempted gun use. And wrestling. They're siblings from another mother, kthnx. WARNINGS: Language. Talk of death.
Part of Cassie's brain understood that what she was doing at the moment was leading down a dangerous path of headaches and vomiting. The amount of tequila she had ingested all on her own was enough to knock her on her ass, nevermind the extra she was demanding of everybody who commented to her. As it was, she was laying on the living room floor with the lap top opened next to her, and an empty bottle tipped on its side next to that. Sharon was talking to her, which only fueled her need for more alcohol. If Carter was dead and he was only a friend, she couldn't imagine how Sam's curse of death would affect family. It was the reason why she was avoiding going home so much, relaying her current status as alive to her mom through brief phone calls and messages to her cousin.
Because that was what it came down to. She wasn't sure that Carter had been killed by anything supernatural or even remotely related to Sam, but it didn't matter. People around Sam died all the time, and ever since she'd gotten him, that seemed to be the pattern that was going and going. Either somebody they knew was being killed, or they were being forced to take out demon reincarnates who had probably been normal people at one point. It all boiled down to "Fucking death," Cassie slurred, playing lazily with the bottle back and forth. She rolled it one way, let it go for a bit, and then caught it to roll it another way.
It went like that for a couple of minutes until the bottle slipped away from her reach and kept going to the doorway. With that she sighed and took a quick swipe at her eyes. More alcohol. She wanted to pass out and not remember, which was harder than it sounded. Getting up was proving to be a problem.