Post by GREGORY LESTRADE on Jan 1, 2012 0:49:26 GMT -5
The place was your basic Irish pub; Green-tainted windows, orange lights which always seemed on the verge of dying, a large, hearty, middle-aged man as the bar tender. It was full of people, more than usual. However it was one of the more obscure, hidden pubs in the area, so while it was fuller than usual - much more than Lestrade prefered - one wouldn't describe it as "jam packed." Seated at the tall wooden counter on a not-so-swively stool, Lestrade slouched over a small glass of vodka. It was his second that night.
It had been a few weeks since the last time Lestrade had gone drinking, which he found impressive; There'd be many times where he wanted to fuck work and get drunk so badly he wouldn't remember it in the morning. But he was better at resisting… well, everything now, and so had been able to hold off until now. But now he had the night off, finally, and all he wanted to do was relax and get as smashed as he could without passing out. That was Lestrade's way: he was the kind of person who didn't get drunk to forget, or get fucked, but just to get everything to simply leave him the hell alone for a few damn hours.
Perhaps he would regret this in the morning, when he would call in sick to work and end up nursing his pulsing headache while lying on the bathroom floor, the porcelain seat leaving an indent on his pale forhead. Lestrade knew this would happen because it always happened like that. However he always ignored that fact until the next morning, too.
He heard the bell that hung in the door frame of he pub ding twice as someone else entered the pub. Lestrade turned hazilly to watch as a young woman walked into the facility. Very fair, red hair, pretty. She sat next to him and ordered her drink.
"Oh you don't want to get that," Lestrade found himself saying suddenly. "It's crap, believe me."
It had been a few weeks since the last time Lestrade had gone drinking, which he found impressive; There'd be many times where he wanted to fuck work and get drunk so badly he wouldn't remember it in the morning. But he was better at resisting… well, everything now, and so had been able to hold off until now. But now he had the night off, finally, and all he wanted to do was relax and get as smashed as he could without passing out. That was Lestrade's way: he was the kind of person who didn't get drunk to forget, or get fucked, but just to get everything to simply leave him the hell alone for a few damn hours.
Perhaps he would regret this in the morning, when he would call in sick to work and end up nursing his pulsing headache while lying on the bathroom floor, the porcelain seat leaving an indent on his pale forhead. Lestrade knew this would happen because it always happened like that. However he always ignored that fact until the next morning, too.
He heard the bell that hung in the door frame of he pub ding twice as someone else entered the pub. Lestrade turned hazilly to watch as a young woman walked into the facility. Very fair, red hair, pretty. She sat next to him and ordered her drink.
"Oh you don't want to get that," Lestrade found himself saying suddenly. "It's crap, believe me."
