To the Bottom of the Bottle

[thecanarylives]

Who: Sara Lance + You
What: Drowning her feelings.
Where: Outside of Sara and Booker's house.
When: March

Content Warnings:

Binge drinking, angst

[ Sara's sitting out on the front steps of the house - their house. A half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in her lap, her brows furrowed as she stares down at the concrete in front of her.

Her eyes are red and puffy, breath stuttering with emotion as she takes another swig from the bottle. Gulping the liquid down, she considers the glass a moment before flinging it to the ground, something distantly satisfying about watching the thing shatter. ]

Comments

[thecanarylives]

[ She doesn't mind him lingering if he's going to share his weed, at least. And maybe she should know better, accepting a smoke from some random guy off the street in a place where nothing is anywhere close to what it seems. But she's just plain out of fucks to give right now, and any chance to numb herself she'll take without question.

Whether or not she believes it's normal doesn't seem to matter. She takes the joint and the lighter, burning it at one end and taking a long, slow drag. Holding it in her lungs a moment, she tips her head up to exhale, her breath still shaky against the raw emotion of it all. ]

Think I'm going crazy regardless. [ She passes the joint over to him. ] Thanks.

[possessum]

You can keep it. I've got more. ( Peter gives another shy smile, finding another joint from his pocket and placing it inbetween his teeth as he reaches for the lighter to get it going. Then there's a slow drag of his own, and although the effects aren't immediate, Peter finds some kind of mental relief just by the gesture alone. )

I know that feeling, though. Every day's some new shit in this place.

( Though he doesn't know her circumstances, there's a genuine empathy there in his voice, because he does get it. Being here comes with fresh forms of suffering. When one thing ends, another one starts up (which is one reason he walks around with pot on hand, ready to get high whenever he needs to). )

Are you new to this place, or been here a while? Both ways have to be just as bad.

[thecanarylives]

Thanks. [ She murmurs softly, not much effort put into the attempt at a smile she gives him back. She takes another drag, holding it in thoughtfully a moment as she stares at the ground. It's a minuscule comfort to the pain that's threatening to overtake her, but the habit, the easy motion of it does have its place.

She exhales, as if there's some way the smoke can expel some part of the pain from her lungs. As if it can, at the very least, dull the edges of it for just a moment. ]

Been here a while. Was in the old place, too. You?

[possessum]

Same. ( Peter answers quietly, with a little dip of his head. Solidarity for becoming a resident of some freaky nightmare city not once, but twice. There's another slow drag, and he's welcoming the smell of the smoke, potent and heady and familiar. )

....Though I chose to come to this one. ( Unlike Deerington, where he woke up even when he didn't want to, where it wasn't a choice at all to keep on living when back home all he wanted was to die. Trench is different. When everything was crumbling, he held someone's hand and walked through the Door.

Peter hesitates again, not wanting to risk upsetting the woman further. His voice stays very soft. )

Did you... want to? Come here.

[thecanarylives]

[ She nods quietly. It's odd, that so many of them here share the same past and are just now crossing paths. All the danger, the darkness they all went through together. It bonds them in ways she's not sure she could explain if she tried.

Her brow furrows as he speaks, the numbness starting to spread across her fingertips, her lips. ]

No. [ She'd gone back home for a while. Said her goodbyes, left it all behind her. ] But he was here too, so. It seemed okay. [ Her sucks in a breath, shaking her head. ] You have people here?

[possessum]

( He was here... Oh. Peter looks down again, pretty sure he knows what that means. That loss, that ache, the one that won't ever go away. He'd lost many people over time in Deerington, but his first Trench loss was a couple of months ago. It was one of his best friends, and he still hasn't really processed it. He doesn't know how to. He doesn't want it to be real. )

Yeah. Some are gone now, but— most aren't. ( He knows he's lucky for that, for the fact that several of his loved ones from Deerington are still here. The person he loves the most in this world is still with him. But it doesn't make the losses any easier to swallow. )

The guy who was here. ( The one she'd mentioned, the one who made it seem okay to be here. ) He's... gone now?

[thecanarylives]

[ Maybe it's easier, not to process it. To drown it in liquor and weed and anger instead. It's not healthy, no, not even slightly - but right now, it's all she can muster.

She takes another hit, furrowing a brow at the ground as she holds the smoke in a moment, then releases it. ]

Good. It's easier, you know? Having people here. [ She frowns, nodding at his question. ]

Yeah. For good. As good as it can be, in a place like this.

[possessum]

( Peter offers a soft nod of his own, a wordless agreement to what she says about having people here, how it makes it easier. It does — and he pauses, before he adds on to the thought. )

If it wasn't for them... I don't think I'd have made it this far.

( It's maybe a pretty macabre thing to voice, but it's only true. He wouldn't be here. If not dead — since they're not even allowed that permanent luxury — then he'd have lost himself to his inner demons a long time ago. And in Peter's case, those are quite literal.

But he's looking back up at the woman, and he can't hide the wounded way his eyes look as she confirms what he'd probably already known. )

I'm sorry. ( He is, and it hurts. Peter pauses, swallowing against the tight feeling of his throat. )

Did you get to say goodbye?

[thecanarylives]

[ She thought it might get easier, eventually. The impermanence of this place and the last. Watching people come and go. But the longer she's stayed, the deeper those relationships have gotten. The harder it is to watch it all just... disappear.

She nods at his sentiment, something tightening in her throat at the thought. Of how far they'd come, of how she'd just assumed their time back together would've lasted a little longer.

She doesn't need his apology, but it tugs her heart further down into her stomach when she gets it. The tears start to blur her vision again, and stubbornly she blinks them away. Not now. Not in front of him.

Instead, she shakes her head at his question, taking another drag of the blunt to buy herself some time to recover. ]

Does anyone, in this place?

[possessum]

( He's starting to really feel it now, the familiar lull. Peter only ever smokes what calms him down — the slow, peaceful stuff. The kind it's easy to become numb to.

Still, he can hear his heartbeat thudding dully in his own ears at her question. He's never, ever talked about this. Just shoved it up under the rug inside himself. He's quiet for a few moments longer. Her question could be rhetorical, but.... )

When my best friend left, he.... knew. Beforehand. Somehow, he knew he was gonna leave.

( Diarmuid came to him explicitly, told him about a certain longing to return to the sea. Peter begged him not to go, like a child. Cried a little. Clung a lot. )

I got to say goodbye. But... I'm not sure I'm happy I did. Because I keep looking back and wishing I'd said it better, you know?

( Not that it's easier when people just disappear without any chance to say goodbye, but.... Peter has some regrets about it. Looking back, he wishes he'd done more during that final interaction. Hugged longer. Said better things. )

[thecanarylives]

[ The weed helps in the sense that she feels just that little bit detached from her body. It's not any less painful - she's sure of it. But it helps dull the ache of it just for a moment.

She presses her lips together, feeling the buzz of it against her skin. Eyebrows knitting, she wrinkles her nose, content on focusing on the pain of a different story to try and distract from her own. ]

That's the problem, isn't it? Not knowing if it hurts more to get to say goodbye or not.

[ She sucks in a breath, shaking her head. ] It's regret, either way.