2019-08-05 - Tequila Always Wins
After Monday Night Margaritas, the evening doesn't end quite like Sutton expects.
IC Date: 2019-08-05
OOC Date: 2019-05-24
Location: Bayside Apt/Apartment 503
Related Scenes: 2019-05-28 - Dream A Little Dream 2019-06-08 - Some Days I Don't Have the Strength 2019-07-10 - 77 F-cks 2019-08-05 - Monday Night Margaritas
Plot: None
Scene Number: 898
Some time after the door closed, perhaps a tiny bit hard, on the heels of a certain Brit, after several texts are exchanged with a cop on the phone, Sutton sits alone in her kitchen fanning her face with one hand. The remains of a bottle of Patrón sits uncapped nearby, along with a plethora of equipment, ingredients for making margaritas, and a blender with the melted remains of what was a batch of lime frozen margaritas.
She's eating a half bowl of chili cheese fries from the Grizzly Diner, now cold. The containers from other takeaway are out on the large island in her kitchen. She sits on a stool inside if facing out, her balcony door still open, warm ocean breeze blowing in from outside.
Her cheeks are flushed with tequila, her eyes a bit glassy. She finishes off one particularly hoss cheese fry, mouth still full when:
"The night certainly took a turn from earlier, the jovial if intermittently tense, to cosmic shitshow. Baby sister. How is it you managed to do this to yourself? Was that another guy I heard out here earlier? What, are you going for the building record?"
Elias Sutton steps out of the corridor lined with pictures, the one that leads down to the bedrooms, guest and master, and both attached baths. He's in rare form tonight, after months of being unheard, just going for the gusto, really.
"A blatantly shifty-ass grifter type is one thing. I can see it. The accent, the bad boy vibe. The smile when he's not lying though his teeth, ie, his lips are moving at all. Even the dark eyes. But shifty. Fine."
He's cloaked mostly in shadow. Sutton turned off a majority of the lights when everyone left. Dark hair is mussed slightly, artfully, as usual, a little long for a cop, but short enough on the sides to keep the brass off his back. He wears dark jeans, a dark tee, a badge on his belt. He's not even looking at his sister, pacing, like he often does when he's ranting and she's not hearing him, unable, perhaps, to hear him.
"But my old partner? Really? Really, Harry? I told you what he's like. I told you to stay away from him. He's just not, since his wife and son, he's not— he's not what you need, even if his smile tells you everything will be so good, and —"
The sound of a fork hitting the floor is ultimately what stops the ranting.
"..." Elias stands there looking at his sister. She almost looks like... she's looking at him.
Sutton sits there staring at her dead brother. Her dead brother ranting in her apartment. Her dead brother having the balls to slut shame her in her own fucking apartment. That's what she's mainly thinking. And then it quickly becomes an issue of the fact that she's choking on the massive bite of chili & cheese slathered fried potato she just put in her mouth.
Shock + diner food = lose.
She gasps in part of a breath, but that was a mistake. She gets up to fast, her barstool falls over.
"Harry?" Elias' expression shifts. She can see him. She can see him. "Harry, I — I'm what... I'm sorry, just, Harry!"
At this point he becomes aware it's not just shock, but distress. "Oh fuck. Are you choking?" He rushes over to grab her, but of course, spirits can't touch anything, and his hand passes right through. "Oh, fuck. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I take it all back. Fuck who you want. Cuddle the neighborhood. I would if my junk wasn't incorporeal —"
Turns out Elias Sutton is just as weird under stress as his sister.
And this is how he ends up standing there, identical pairs of hazel eyes locked on each other, as Sutton chokes on a fucking diner fry, finally able to see the ghost she's heard so much about.
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