At the end of yet another long short-staffed shift, Max drags himself up the stairs of cafe to the loft bedroom. God is he glad this is here at a time like this. Just walking home feels like too much effort at the moment.
Besides, walking home would give him too much time to think about the reason why he's so short-staffed in the kitchen. Dimitri, Raleigh, Chell... all gone. No goodbyes. No trace. Just gone.
He needs a drink.
Bedside table is the first place he looks. There's a bottle there but there's hardly more than a sip left in it. He doesn't even bother with a glass, just turns the whole thing up into his mouth. Tossing the empty aside on the bed, he goes to the next stash spot, bottom drawer in the wardrobe. But he's greeted with yet another nearly empty bottle. What? How?
Has he been draining them to nearly empty just to leave the last dregs for next time? Wouldn't he remember that? He should have remembered to get more in that case.
With a disgruntle grunt, he throws down the early empty bottle and goes to his desk drawer. There should be a one-shot bottle of Jameson waiting as a back-up...
He finds the bottle. It's empty too.
"What the hell!?" he screams, throwing the bottle against the wall. Miraculously, it doesn't shatter, just bounces off and skitters across the carpet.
Frustration builds in his chest. His fists ball at his sides. He just wants a good drink! He just wants to forget that his friends have disappeared and left him here with a significantly empty kitchen! He wants to forget that his dream is falling apart around him right now. And he can't even find a bottle in his own room. It's enough to bring him to his knees in the middle of the floor, sobbing into his hands.
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[For Lucas] The loft over the cafe (slightly backdated)
Date: 2021-03-24 02:49 pm (UTC)Besides, walking home would give him too much time to think about the reason why he's so short-staffed in the kitchen. Dimitri, Raleigh, Chell... all gone. No goodbyes. No trace. Just gone.
He needs a drink.
Bedside table is the first place he looks. There's a bottle there but there's hardly more than a sip left in it. He doesn't even bother with a glass, just turns the whole thing up into his mouth. Tossing the empty aside on the bed, he goes to the next stash spot, bottom drawer in the wardrobe. But he's greeted with yet another nearly empty bottle. What? How?
Has he been draining them to nearly empty just to leave the last dregs for next time? Wouldn't he remember that? He should have remembered to get more in that case.
With a disgruntle grunt, he throws down the early empty bottle and goes to his desk drawer. There should be a one-shot bottle of Jameson waiting as a back-up...
He finds the bottle. It's empty too.
"What the hell!?" he screams, throwing the bottle against the wall. Miraculously, it doesn't shatter, just bounces off and skitters across the carpet.
Frustration builds in his chest. His fists ball at his sides. He just wants a good drink! He just wants to forget that his friends have disappeared and left him here with a significantly empty kitchen! He wants to forget that his dream is falling apart around him right now. And he can't even find a bottle in his own room. It's enough to bring him to his knees in the middle of the floor, sobbing into his hands.