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If I'm Out of Line, Just Show Me the Door [CLOSED]
Who: Agent South Dakota (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ownperson) & Agent North Dakota (gooddefense)
What: Unresolved tension boils over
When: Mid-December, pre holidays
Where: North's farm, Northwest Hollow
Warning(s): Excessive alcohol/alcohol abuse, ongoing mental health crises, discussion of betrayal/fratricide by proxy, possible references to past emotional abuse/neglect, others added as necessary
She doesn't mean to get back so late.
One drink turns into two drinks into five into ten and, outside the Oak & Iron's windows, the world turns black and white as night creeps in and snow drifts down from clouds overhead. Midnight is already long behind her by the time the bartender finally cuts her off so they can close up, ushering her out to brave the chill as she curses herself for losing track of time. It's a long walk back from downtown to the farmhouse even on a good day and, between trudging through snowfall and her own drunken clumsiness, this is not a good day. Should've left sooner. Should've been back hours ago. It's just—
Been getting harder and harder to spend time in the house without wanting to scream, the last few days—fuck, the last couple weeks, really. Hours will go by where everything seems okay and then something will happen, something small, something she barely even notices, and everything gets weird again. North gets weird again. But then she doesn't say a word, and, eventually, things go back to normal. Until the cycle repeats. Over and over and over again and—
She just needed to get out of the house. Needed a drink and to clear her head. That's all. That's fucking all.
Her pale skin is red and her hands are shaking as much from the cold as the alcohol, by the time she hauls herself up the porch steps and fumbles with the lock on the door. It's not quiet, it's not considerate. When it finally clicks open, she shoulders the door and stumbles inside, shoving it back shut behind her. Her boots thud heavily against the wooden floor and she grunts, huffing as she fights to get the stupid things off so she can drag herself to bed.
ownperson) & Agent North Dakota (gooddefense)What: Unresolved tension boils over
When: Mid-December, pre holidays
Where: North's farm, Northwest Hollow
Warning(s): Excessive alcohol/alcohol abuse, ongoing mental health crises, discussion of betrayal/fratricide by proxy, possible references to past emotional abuse/neglect, others added as necessary
She doesn't mean to get back so late.
One drink turns into two drinks into five into ten and, outside the Oak & Iron's windows, the world turns black and white as night creeps in and snow drifts down from clouds overhead. Midnight is already long behind her by the time the bartender finally cuts her off so they can close up, ushering her out to brave the chill as she curses herself for losing track of time. It's a long walk back from downtown to the farmhouse even on a good day and, between trudging through snowfall and her own drunken clumsiness, this is not a good day. Should've left sooner. Should've been back hours ago. It's just—
Been getting harder and harder to spend time in the house without wanting to scream, the last few days—fuck, the last couple weeks, really. Hours will go by where everything seems okay and then something will happen, something small, something she barely even notices, and everything gets weird again. North gets weird again. But then she doesn't say a word, and, eventually, things go back to normal. Until the cycle repeats. Over and over and over again and—
She just needed to get out of the house. Needed a drink and to clear her head. That's all. That's fucking all.
Her pale skin is red and her hands are shaking as much from the cold as the alcohol, by the time she hauls herself up the porch steps and fumbles with the lock on the door. It's not quiet, it's not considerate. When it finally clicks open, she shoulders the door and stumbles inside, shoving it back shut behind her. Her boots thud heavily against the wooden floor and she grunts, huffing as she fights to get the stupid things off so she can drag herself to bed.
no subject
A deep breath in and she drops her hands from her head, nodding loosely. "The Oak and whatever's still open for room stuff m'pretty sure. S'just the bar that's shut."
She hates the idea of it, the idea of being alone in a hotel room again, reminding her all too keenly of the nights spent in motels after.... after. But it's an option that's not going anywhere, even if it does mean another walk through the snow.
no subject
no subject
Her next breath quakes so blatantly that she sounds on the edge of tears, but she swallows them down. No. Not happening. Not now. Not fucking now.
"Okay." She gets her knees under her, ready to push herself to her feet, but hesitates a moment. Bites the inside of her cheek and allows herself one final bit of selfishness, turning to drag him into a tight hug.
If this is going to be goodbye (just for a while, just for a while—) then sue her, she wants to hug her damn brother.
"...I'm sorry. I-I love you Di," she murmurs into his shoulder, before she forces herself to let go, stand up, stand back. (Not a lot to grab. Couple changes of clothes and a coat so he doesn't worry too much. That's all. Won't even take five minutes.)
no subject
It's not forever. North doesn't want it to be forever. So why does it feel so final? Fuck.
"I love you, too, Tash," he murmurs. "It's gonna be okay. Just--- take care of yourself, alright? Don't drink too much, and stay outta trouble."
(This is his fault. It's his fault she's leaving him. He sent her away. He has no right to feel like this.)
no subject
She puts on the barest ghost of a smile, tries to look something like herself. Tries to look, in any way, reassuring of that fact she won't do anything stupid. "I-I'll try."
She pulls her boots back on, cinches the laces tight. She collects her small pile of clothes from beside the couch and stuffs them into a bag. She grabs a coat from the rack and shrugs into it. It takes maybe two minutes, and then she's standing at the door, staring out at the snow. (It makes her think of home.)
Can't look back at him, can't look back at him or she'll waver and she can't do that, she has to do this, has to do this or there'll be nothing left to fix. Has to leave, or else it'll only end in him really, truly hating her, and she can't... she can't take the thought of it.
"...you— you take care of yourself too, okay? Don't... don't be alone. Don't just— don't just shut down. Okay? Don't do that."
With that and one final, fortifying breath, she walks out the door.