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

[possessum]

( There's some awful kind of irony to the fact Booker's been on Peter's mind a lot, lately. His interactions with the man were always mysterious, a little hard to figure out. But one thing has slowly peeked through his hazy snippets of memory: and that's that Booker helped him.

He has no idea he's nearing where the man lives. Lived. Maybe it's all just some coincidence, but Peter ends up walking that way, hands shoved into the front pockets of his hoodie. Despite his stature — tall, standing at six feet even — Peter moves like a ghost, almost too quiet. He's a gloomy presence, eyes rimmed in bruise-like dark circles, like he hasn't gotten good sleep in maybe his whole life.

That's when there's the loud shatter of glass from just up ahead, and the young man startles, wide-eyed. He finds the woman sitting alone on the porch, clearly upset by the looks of her — and hesitates. His instinct is always to run away from something unknown. But... )

Uh— hello? ( Peter finds himself calling, voice soft and shy and nervous. ) Are you okay?

( It's a dumb question, in retrospect, but he can't just leave someone like this. )

[luckystriker]

It's been a while and Herc can definitely say he's seen Sara in far better states than this. Enough so that at first he's not entirely what he's seeing.

On recognising Sara and the obvious signs of upset, he slowly picks his way to the front of the house and calls from a few feet away, "Hey? You all right there?"

[wwrench]

He's got no justification to drop by this time. Not that he thinks he needs it, but it isn't as though he can return the hospitality by inviting her over to his place. They'd either spend the time sprawled under the tree of his latest lean-to, or huddled between the archives of John's shop, and neither is quite as hospitable as the place she and Booker keep.

Usually, at least. Wrench can feel something in the air well before he sees Sara there on the steps. It puts a lump of something in his throat. Homesickness, maybe, if he were prone to the sensation. But his belly is full of loss already when she hears his footsteps and lifts her head and he can see her red-rimmed eyes.

What happened? he's still a ways off. It'd be an awkward distance to call between, but that's just one of the benefits of ASL. Wrench quickens his pace, but doesn't drop his hands. Is someone hurt?