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Room 506, Saturday Around Noon
Mar. 5th, 2016 01:54 pmOw. Ow.
Ringo's head was pounding when she blearily opened her eyes. She usually didn't sleep that late, but the sunlight coming in her window suggested that she had. And also made her snap her eyes closed and groan. Stupid sunlight.
The couple of drinks she'd had the night before probably weren't enough to leave her feeling quite this bad, but she'd also gone on a terrible crying jag, which had not helped at all. During those few seconds before she's squeezed her eyes closed, Ringo thought she'd noticed a glass next to her table. She flailed over blindly and found it with one hand, sitting up and taking a sip with her eyes still closed. Oh, water. That was good. She chugged half the glass in one go, then let out a sigh.
Crying all over Dante last night had been, well, less than ideal. Ugh. On the other hand, the crying had, well, actually felt kind of good. Ringo had been fighting that off since she'd talked to Kathy.
Which hurt to think about still, and part of her wanted to not do that thinking, but it was hard not to poke at it. Like picking at a scab or something. Besides, she sort of felt like she owed Kathy. It wasn't like Ringo hadn't known Kathy would shoot her down. Kathy had never said or done anything to make Ringo think she was anything but straight, and Dante had flat out said so. So Ringo had gone in knowing how Kathy would have to respond, and that Kathy wouldn't want to because she knew it'd hurt Ringo, and she'd still confessed. It had been deeply selfish, so Ringo owed it to Kathy not to run away from the consequences.
She shifted slightly, taking another sip of water and stretching. Then her eyes blinked open and she looked down. And snorted. She'd fallen asleep wearing the Thorn Regalia. She carefully removed them, walking slowly across the room to put them back in their biometrically-locked case. Then back over to her bed where she flopped back and closed her eyes.
Poking at a broken heart was apparently a lot like picking at a scab. It was hard to stop doing, too.
[ooc: Door's closed, but post is open if anyone wants to swing by and yell at Ringo for being an idiot. Or just hang out. Whatever!]
Ringo's head was pounding when she blearily opened her eyes. She usually didn't sleep that late, but the sunlight coming in her window suggested that she had. And also made her snap her eyes closed and groan. Stupid sunlight.
The couple of drinks she'd had the night before probably weren't enough to leave her feeling quite this bad, but she'd also gone on a terrible crying jag, which had not helped at all. During those few seconds before she's squeezed her eyes closed, Ringo thought she'd noticed a glass next to her table. She flailed over blindly and found it with one hand, sitting up and taking a sip with her eyes still closed. Oh, water. That was good. She chugged half the glass in one go, then let out a sigh.
Crying all over Dante last night had been, well, less than ideal. Ugh. On the other hand, the crying had, well, actually felt kind of good. Ringo had been fighting that off since she'd talked to Kathy.
Which hurt to think about still, and part of her wanted to not do that thinking, but it was hard not to poke at it. Like picking at a scab or something. Besides, she sort of felt like she owed Kathy. It wasn't like Ringo hadn't known Kathy would shoot her down. Kathy had never said or done anything to make Ringo think she was anything but straight, and Dante had flat out said so. So Ringo had gone in knowing how Kathy would have to respond, and that Kathy wouldn't want to because she knew it'd hurt Ringo, and she'd still confessed. It had been deeply selfish, so Ringo owed it to Kathy not to run away from the consequences.
She shifted slightly, taking another sip of water and stretching. Then her eyes blinked open and she looked down. And snorted. She'd fallen asleep wearing the Thorn Regalia. She carefully removed them, walking slowly across the room to put them back in their biometrically-locked case. Then back over to her bed where she flopped back and closed her eyes.
Poking at a broken heart was apparently a lot like picking at a scab. It was hard to stop doing, too.
[ooc: Door's closed, but post is open if anyone wants to swing by and yell at Ringo for being an idiot. Or just hang out. Whatever!]
