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deantestineswritingTitle: Miserable || Ao3
Fandom: Pluribus
Rating: PG
Ship: Lightly Implied Helen Umstead/Carol Sturka
Warnings: Alcoholism
Word Count: 270
Whats in here?: Drinking
Summary: The end of the world is absolutely an appropriate drinking occasion.
For:Sweet and Short
The cabinet creaked as it opened. Carol looked into it, a confession she never wanted to reach the air. It felt sinful, but she'd never really been Christian. Like she'd been caught by the cops would be more fitting. She grabbed something without looking, she couldn't just pretend it was about taste anymore. It never was.
It didn't sting going down, that minor sting covered up by not the scent or the sight but the knowledge of the corpse sitting in her house. Some things stung more than others and those things had to go, to just get out of her mind. With all these others, she became so used to people listening to her, even if not truly listening, if just obeying, that it felt like common sense her own thoughts would do the same. It wasn't true.
But it wouldn't bother her as much soon, nothing would be able to.
The television called to her pre-apocalypse senses but there was nothing it could do for her anymore. She took another sip of her drink. The kind of sip where it's actually the whole glass straight down the gullet, no questions or hesitation. She doesn't leave the drink station, sitting down isn't worth it when she could actually start to think over there, a risk not worth taking.
And that was the couch she sat on as one of the only things she truly had was sworn to be taken away from her. Herself.
She went back into the cabinet, observing alcohol percentages like data sets. God, did it really have to be her job to save the world?
Fandom: Pluribus
Rating: PG
Ship: Lightly Implied Helen Umstead/Carol Sturka
Warnings: Alcoholism
Word Count: 270
Whats in here?: Drinking
Summary: The end of the world is absolutely an appropriate drinking occasion.
For:
The cabinet creaked as it opened. Carol looked into it, a confession she never wanted to reach the air. It felt sinful, but she'd never really been Christian. Like she'd been caught by the cops would be more fitting. She grabbed something without looking, she couldn't just pretend it was about taste anymore. It never was.
It didn't sting going down, that minor sting covered up by not the scent or the sight but the knowledge of the corpse sitting in her house. Some things stung more than others and those things had to go, to just get out of her mind. With all these others, she became so used to people listening to her, even if not truly listening, if just obeying, that it felt like common sense her own thoughts would do the same. It wasn't true.
But it wouldn't bother her as much soon, nothing would be able to.
The television called to her pre-apocalypse senses but there was nothing it could do for her anymore. She took another sip of her drink. The kind of sip where it's actually the whole glass straight down the gullet, no questions or hesitation. She doesn't leave the drink station, sitting down isn't worth it when she could actually start to think over there, a risk not worth taking.
And that was the couch she sat on as one of the only things she truly had was sworn to be taken away from her. Herself.
She went back into the cabinet, observing alcohol percentages like data sets. God, did it really have to be her job to save the world?
