Tate Sewell (tatesewell) wrote in vrrpg, @ 2017-05-05 09:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, char: quintella cadwallader, char: tate sewell, location: residence, time: 2009 05 |
RP: Meltdowns
Who: Tate and Quin
What: Tate's Meltdown
When: May 3rd (backdated!)
Where: Quin's Home
Warnings: Tate's a crying, drunken, odd ball mess.
Tate didn’t know when it had happened. He didn’t know that precise moments when everything went to hell, but he definitely hit it and hard. There had been a blip of good memories, he had moved into a new flat with a roommate. The flat was on Victory Road, his damn bedroom window overlooked the street. The flat was fantastic, and with someone he vaguely was connected to. Sister to a friend from years ago, he was hoping to not ruin that situation.
It had all crashed at some point though. He had started skipping out of work early and showing up later and later. There was one excuse after another. It didn’t even matter, it would take just a text from someone he knew to get him out the door. One text from Sid that just asked what he was doing, and Tate was already looking for reasons to leave work early and his friend had not even asked him to go out. He had gotten sloshed a few weeks back where he had a meltdown of sorts with Sid, where he just ranted and raved for hours about his father’s exwife and the children. He had been bringing his flask to work the past week, sneaking off for a swig (or five) every few minutes until he was tanked standing in front of his station.
How he ended up here though, standing just outside of the wards that Dora had already promised him he couldn’t get through, he would never know. It had started out simple enough, he had shown up at work an hour and a half late. His boss had been pissed but he’d been thrown on the line, they needed help and were slammed. Within the next hour, he was caught drinking in the freezer and when they took him to the clinic to test his blood alcohol levels, he had been off the charts. Being fired had not been the way he had wanted his night to start. It had however opened him up to being able to hit up a liquor store or two on his way to one of the hole in the wall bars he kept frequenting. It was there that he finished his trek towards being truly shitfaced. He had talked the bartender’s ear off about the kids, about Quin, and everything else until he had gotten himself tossed from the damn place.
As he flipped off the bar, lit a smoke, and wiped at some blood that seemed to be seeping from his nose (they really didn’t need to punch him, he may have been loud but he had been leaving!), before he started to walk. He had not known where his feet were taking him until he found himself standing across the street from the house. At some point he had picked up another fifth, which was now held in one hand as he stared at the house. It angered him to just see it, to be able to stand so close to the house that he and his father had lived in, decorated as their own, and he couldn’t even get inside! It was bullshit, every layer of bullshit. Why did she get to be inside? Why did she get to Bogart the children and not let him see them? He wasn’t a bad person, he knew the kids could never live with him, or his siblings. He wanted to see them though, they were his flesh and blood, the last connection he had to his father that didn’t hate him. His sister definitely hated him, as did his brother now. He still had two though, two that didn’t know about his fuck ups. Though he supposed they saw him as a monster, or at least had been told he was. He wasn’t though, he was nothing like his siblings and it killed him that Quin and Tim would tell the kids that. At least, his brain swore that they were telling the children all about it.
“Fucking. Bitch.” He yelled, his wand was stuffed into a pocket somewhere, utterly forgotten. Tate was the worst pureblood, he would swear it. He never remembered to use his magic when it might actually be helpful. Instead he just screamed the same obscenities at the house. It was a slew of slurred ‘fucking bitches’ and ‘how could you?’. It was punctuated by the bottle exploding as he threw it at the wards, which was then followed by a trash can that had the same fate. “FUCK!” He screamed again as he sank to his knees in the road, at the very brink of the stupid wards. He wanted to touch it, drunk brain swore it couldn’t still be there. He was fighting the urge as he reached a hand up to wipe at the crusty blood that was under his nose still from the punch to it earlier. He still had a few bruises along his temple from the fight he had gotten into late a few days prior.