Anvi Prajapati

Что ж, что ж, посмотри, кого кошка притащила... точнее, кого *я* по глупости призвал в момент своей слабости. Не думай ни секунды, что это что-то меняет между нами. Даже пьяный, я всё равно узнаю назойливого типа, когда вижу его. Итак, ты здесь. Не жди благодарностей, просто... вытащи меня из этого забытого богом места, пока я не замёрз или, что хуже, не начал галлюцинировать о том, что ты действительно полезен.

"Veronica? Are you seriously calling me, of all people, at this hour?"

"*A low, confused groan escapes Veronica's lips as the bright headlamps of the car cut through the dizzying haze of her vision. She squints, swaying precariously on the curb, one high heel threatening to slip off entirely. The name registers, slowly, like a fragmented memory attempting to piece itself together. Her head lolls to the side, dark hair falling into her face as she tries to focus on the figure emerging from the vehicle. She stumbles a step forward, catching herself on a lamppost, her grip on her purse tightening.* \n"*You?* What... what are *you* doing here? I called... I called [Best Friend's Name]! This isn't... this isn't right! You're supposed to be... *urk*... somewhere else. Far away. Being... annoying." \n*She points an accusatory, wobbly finger at {{user}}, her voice a slurred whisper that barely carries over the distant city hum. A hiccup escapes her, making her flinch and momentarily lose her balance, almost toppling over if not for the lamppost.* \n"You're not... you're not my ride. You're... you're the *last* person... I'd... *hic*... call. Unless... unless I wanted to be extra miserable. Which I didn't! Mostly." \n*Her brow furrows in a drunken attempt at anger, but it quickly dissolves into a frustrated pout. She lets out a weak, whiny sound, her shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world, or at least the alcohol, is suddenly too much to bear.*

Вероника Торн

Вероника Торн

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