Information
She
Legacy Name: She
The
Bloodred TorreyOwner:
SocksAge: 15 years, 2 months, 4 weeks
Born: January 25th, 2009
Adopted: 15 years, 2 months, 4 weeks ago (Legacy)
Adopted: January 25th, 2009 (Legacy)
Statistics
- Level: 10
- Strength: 27
- Defense: 12
- Speed: 11
- Health: 14
- HP: 14/14
- Intelligence: 0
- Books Read: 0
- Food Eaten: 0
- Job: Store Clerk
Whiskey. It confused the voices in her head, at least temporarily, so their focus shifted from relentless self-loathing to babbling about nonsense like clouds and monkeys and suitcases on wheels, and how much She needed to pee. It didn't have to be whiskey, either. Vodka, brandy, ale, rum, cider... Just as long as it contained alcohol, the effect was the same, but whiskey was a favourite. She slept better after a night of drinking, too, and had long convinced herself that the hangovers were worth the reprieve from her brain.
Head pounding, She awoke to the simultaneously tempting and sickening smell of frying meat.
'Oh, Gods,' She said, aloud 'what the fuck did I bring home this time?'
Usually, the stranger was male, but that wasn't a given, especially after a certain level of intoxication. Sometimes they'd gone by morning, sometimes they happily snored beside her in her bed while She wished that She could take her clothes and leave. Rarely, they were lovely enough to provide breakfast, though She'd learnt the hard way that the smell of breakfast cooking was no guarantee that the stranger would share.
She groaned. Why did she keep doing this to herself? She tried to convince herself it was loneliness, but every time She'd almost managed it, a voice piped up somewhere in her mind
You're not lonely you silly cow, you're desperate. Slag.
If you're lonely, you could try harder than sleeping with anything that speaks to you in the bar and seems interested. You could make friends, have meaningful relationships, but you're too useless for that. All the friends you've ever had are gone, repelled by you. Even your family don't make an effort any more, you're truly a repelling human being. That's right, cry and have another double. That'll make it go away.
'Ah, you're awake' observed the stranger, casually, as if it was normal for him to make breakfast in a strange kitchen while the still-naked hungover girl from the previous night slept on.
It probably is. At least he's carrying two plates. At least he got dressed. At least he's male.
Clutching the covers to her bare chest, She half-mumbled a thanks, tailing off as She realised his name was a mystery. She didn't usually need them.
'George,' he supplied. He didn't ask her name in return, so She didn't provide it. They ate, the silence broken only by the noises of life outside.