Ingrid
"For one, I'm pretty sure there was only one bar. It was burned down."
Ingrid froze, bottle in-hand.
"This town has NO BARS?" she exclaimed. "I guess you really do have something to cry about, Blondie," she said, taking a long sip from the bottle. Wow. He actually got the good shit. She didn't have long to enjoy the taste before Oliver's words forced her to cringe:
"I don't wanna lay in bed all night just thinking about what happened. I cant change it, no matter what I did."
Great. Her self-pity comment had backfired spectacularly. She didn't know exactly what she had hoped to accomplish there, but was it too much to wish for some fight in his eyes? How about some semblance of a will to live? Instead, her words had triggered more whining. "The line between regret and self-pity is thinner than a starving orphan," she grumbled, partly to herself.
It occurred to her that since he could still string coherent sentences together, he truly wasn't in any danger (yet). She could leave now without tarnishing her moral track record... But she was too stubborn for that, wasn't she? The game was on, and bar or no bar, she was going to find a way to clean up this hot mess of a man. Unfortunately, he didn't seem like he'd get off his ass until he had the chance to vent, and she wasn't physically strong enough to drag him somewhere fun. I'm going to have to ask, aren't I? Alright, Ingrid. Hold your nose and jump.
"Was it really that bad? What, did you fuck your mom or something?" she asked, sitting down next to him and passing the bottle back.
Ingrid froze, bottle in-hand.
"This town has NO BARS?" she exclaimed. "I guess you really do have something to cry about, Blondie," she said, taking a long sip from the bottle. Wow. He actually got the good shit. She didn't have long to enjoy the taste before Oliver's words forced her to cringe:
"I don't wanna lay in bed all night just thinking about what happened. I cant change it, no matter what I did."
Great. Her self-pity comment had backfired spectacularly. She didn't know exactly what she had hoped to accomplish there, but was it too much to wish for some fight in his eyes? How about some semblance of a will to live? Instead, her words had triggered more whining. "The line between regret and self-pity is thinner than a starving orphan," she grumbled, partly to herself.
It occurred to her that since he could still string coherent sentences together, he truly wasn't in any danger (yet). She could leave now without tarnishing her moral track record... But she was too stubborn for that, wasn't she? The game was on, and bar or no bar, she was going to find a way to clean up this hot mess of a man. Unfortunately, he didn't seem like he'd get off his ass until he had the chance to vent, and she wasn't physically strong enough to drag him somewhere fun. I'm going to have to ask, aren't I? Alright, Ingrid. Hold your nose and jump.
"Was it really that bad? What, did you fuck your mom or something?" she asked, sitting down next to him and passing the bottle back.
