Donna Noble'll have a salute (thenoblewoman) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-30 01:18:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, donna noble |
Who: Donna Noble [Narrative]
What: Reflections on the past week, drinking, drunken sobbing over the (SOB) end of TomKat
When: Friday night!
Where: Some local pub, close to Donna's job
Status: Complete!
Rating: PG-13 for some sads and a bit of silliness
It wasn't an especially common occurrence for Donna Noble to find herself in the middle of the bar, drunk to the point that her memories would be nothing more than blur in the morning. And yet, after a long week of pensive moodiness, that was exactly where Donna found herself. She'd lost count of how many amaretto sours she'd consumed, but it was enough that her words came out just the slightest bit slurred and she couldn't help but gesture wildly at the man who was unfortunate enough to take the stool next to her.
"It's just a shame," she said to him. Blond, but not handsome, Donna leaned onto the man, digging her elbow into his side to the point of discomfort. "Such a shame! They seemed like such a nice couple." Tears sprang to Donna's eyes before she could stop them. Violently, she scrubbed at her cheek, but pressed on, "It's like... you can't even believe in love anymore." There was a thoughtful pause. "AND LITTLE SURI! Poor little Suri!"
This went on for a solid ten minutes before a friend rescued the blond man from Donna's drunken screed. But that didn't stop her from talking to herself, and quite loudly, about the famous couple as though they were her nearest and dearest friends. For the most part, Donna went largely ignored until she demanded someone's attention. In moments of loneliness, she'd sink into a drink. There was a sort of miserable solace in drinking sometimes. She could almost forget her failed marriage if she could focus on that of someone else. The little hole that Crowley had left in his wake shrunk when Donna blabbed on in vain about petty things that most people didn't care about. And the mystery man from her dreams didn't seem so strangely important when her head spun.
The night went by quickly. Or slowly. Donna couldn't really tell which. It was well past midnight when a kind stranger ushered Donna into a cab, saving her from herself and, more likely, from the woman in the tight red dress whom she'd been annoying. She waved him off and mumbled her address, nearly giving the driver Crowley's information. But that seemed bad form and even stumbling-drunk, Donna didn't want to be a bother. Her self-esteem simply couldn't take that.
In the morning when she woke, Donna didn't remember how she'd gotten home or when she'd removed the pants that found themselves sitting merrily on her sofa. The mystery of the night before was, she figured, best lost before she remembered embarrassing details. And Donna knew that the details were likely to be very embarrassing.
She skipped her usual morning cup of coffee for a pitiful stay in bed where she felt vaguely sick and sulky. Eventually, when sleep took her, she dreamed of a friend whose face she didn't know in real life but whose importance would stay with her upon waking. The hangover would last far longer than Donna could stand, but when most of the fog cleared from her head, she had the vaguest sense of something lingering in the back of her mind which she couldn't really place.