closed; I'm going to drink to everybody's health 'till I ruin my own.

[maisel]

characters: Miriam Maisel, Sarissa Theron (maisel and magnitudes)
location: Miriam's house
date/time: Backdated to just after christmas.
content: A continuation of this. SOME people get their hands on liquor and force OTHER people to find them before they freeze to death.
warnings: Alcohol, other warnings TBD


I'm not the one stupid enough to wander outside bare feed and in my skivvies. [A tank top is a skivvy to her even though she's technically in her own nightgown, that's beside the point. Pot can call kettle black later. She's annoyed, but more than annoyed she's just plain worried. ]

C'mon. I know basic first aid but if you lose a toe I am not cutting it off.

[ She'll help Sarissa walk, at least, glad her place really isn't far. She'll hold the bottle, too, tucking it under her arm so all Sarissa has to do is hold her lantern.

Comments

[magnitudes]

I'm not stupid.

( Oh really now, Sarissa? She picks up her lantern, a rusty metal thing, not dissimilar to an old railway lantern, beat up and dented. )

The darker the night, the brighter the stars, ( She starts, dipping her toes into the snow to flick it up as she starts to walk, )
The deeper the grief, the closer is God!

( Turning to look at Miriam then, as she walks, a sharp smile tugging one side of her mouth. The other side doesn't move. )

I do stupid shit, but I ain't stupid.

( That is something she might not admit when sober and in a better state, admittedly. )

[maisel]

Don't you dare Dostoyevsky me right now. You're not allowed to know my weakness. I wrote my final on him.

[ How Sarissa just knows that is beyond her, but her face is still terse, far too serious as she finally sees her house. ]

I'm going to comment on how incredibly self-aware you are but I'm going to do it when we're inside.

[magnitudes]

Yeah? Literature major? ( Sarissa has no fucking idea, but grins at Miriam's terseness. )

You can know my weakness, if you like. Since I accidentally found out yours.

( Fair's fair, after all. Miriam wants a girls night, maybe that involves trading vulnerabilities. )

[maisel]

Yours is apparently hypothermia.

[ There we go, she can see her cabin's steps. She's just praying Sarissa's stable enough to go up stairs, or it's going to be a whole damn adventure. ] Russian literature--I read Anna Karenina when I was 14 and knew I that's what I was going to go into.

[magnitudes]

Nah, mate. Talking shit, gettin’ hit. I’m a bloody superstar.

( She slurs a little as she grins at Midge and then looks at the stairs with a grin. )

And Anna Karenina is famously a comedy, yeah? Watch this.

( She does a handstand, and starts to walk towards the cabin. On her hands. Look at her go. )

[maisel]

Sarissa for the love of God--

--how are you doing that?

[ Seriously how is she drunk hand standing? Midge would be more mortified if she wasn't kind of impressed despite herself. ]

[magnitudes]

Natural— ( hang on, her shirt is slipping down so she can’t really see and also her voice is muffled. ) Natural talent.

( And then, tragically, predictably (because no matter how in-shape and stubborn and competitive she is, she’s also wrecked with her next “step” forward her wrist buckle or something goes horribly wrong, and she tumbles to the ground, slamming hard onto her back.

She blinks for a couple seconds, and groans. )

See? Always comes back to this, hey.

[maisel]

Oh!

[ There she goes. In a decent mimicry of how they'd met before moments ago, Midge, face cream and hair rollers and head scarf, peers over Sarissa with what can only be described as disappointment. ]

The door is right there. C'mon.

[ Take her hand, will you? It's her left, but there's no wedding ring. ]

[magnitudes]

Yeah, yeah.

( Grumbling, and then she accepts the hand and lets Midge haul her up. )

It’s all right. I promise not to shed or climb on the furniture.

[maisel]

I'd put Howdy Doody on if I could. [ Is she sarcastic? It's really hard to tell, and she disappears into the bedroom without an actual mattress in it. It's been turned into her closet--quite literally, all fo the clothes brought with her on arrival are there, as well as some she's picked up from the shops. They're all perfectly from the 50s, naturally.

When she returns it's with a nightgown and a matching peignoir, fluffy, frilly, comfortable looking in a baby blue. ]

Change into this, I'll go get you some water.

[magnitudes]

( Sarissa looks briefly baffled as Miriam passes her approximately enough material for a hammock, and then furrows her brows. )

Does this serve as pyjamas and bedding at the same time?

( She makes no moves to change, as yet. )

[maisel]

I'm wearing the exact same thing but in pink. [ there's a bit of a warning tone from her kitchen, even if her voice is still warm. ] I don't make fun of you for wearing men's shirts.

[magnitudes]

Yeah, but you could wear a bin bag and look gorgeous. Not all of us can pull this shit off.

( Whatever, right? With a quiet sigh, Sarissa peels off her top and her bra and pulls on the fanciest pyjamas ever. )

[maisel]

[ Midge's smile shines through, even through the layer of night cream she's got on. Can Sarissa see it? No, but maybe she can hear it when Midge speaks. ] That is very brave of you to say right now.

[ She gives the other time to change, timing herself perfectly with the glass of water and an empty glass so Sarissa's just done. A hostess sixth-sense. She keeps the other glass and goes over to a little cabinent where she's got a bottle of wine. That's her reward for getting Sarissa out. ]

You can pretty much pull anything off, you know. You've got the perfect face shape for literally any hairstyle save for a buzzcut.

[magnitudes]

Why?

( Stretching and her usual habit of rolling her shoulders, the sheer physicality of how she exists from one moment to the other, look odd in something so delicate and feminine. With that said... it's pretty comfortable, actually. )

Oh, uh. ( Honestly, she's a little thrown, opening her mouth and closing it again. ) I like stuff that's good for climbing fences and trees and stuff.

( Why does she suddenly feel awkward. )

[maisel]

[ Why? The answer's obvious to Midge--she's got face cream all over her face, her hair is in rollers, and she looks... well, like a normal human being. That will not stand in the Maisel household, especially in In the Night, when her appearance is the only thing she feels like she can control. ]

I've noticed. [ Surprisingly, Midge doesn't sound judgemental about it. ] My manager dresses a little bit like you--God, I really miss her. You know those types of people that just don't take shit from anyone? That's Susie Meyerson.

You kinda remind me of her in more than the way you dress, I think.

[magnitudes]

( Sarissa just... looks at Miriam, one eyebrow quirked. Facts are facts: Miriam is a babe. Granted, one with hair rollers right now, but hey: a babe with organisational skills. Hair rollers counted as organisation and commitment. She's never tried to sleep with them in, but do they look comfortable? That's a no from her.

Her head cants to the side, and she moves to a couch, flopping onto it. Her body feels strange, now it's recovering from the cold, sharp prickles all through her limbs as the bloodflow is restored and the feeling begins to return. )

Oh, no. Does she do stupid shit, too?

( Playful, a... barrier, of sorts. If all she is comes down to doing stupid things and dressing how she does, that's all right. Keep expectations low, and people can only be so disappointed. )

[maisel]

Everyone does stupid shit. I do stupid shit. I married Joel Maisel.

[ She sets the wine glass down, and disappears. After a few beats she reappears with a large blanket, and, without any prompting, tucks Sarissa in whether she's laying down or sitting. ]

Next time you wanna get that drunk, let me know, okay? I'll be with you. You should never drink alone.

[magnitudes]

Please, I got you beat in the bad relationship decisions. Was Joel a mafia princess? Did he possibly fake his death and frame you for it? Does he come from a place with an unholy death-fluid called that he convinced you to drink one time?

( She lets herself be tucked in, still sitting, and then uselessly slides down the couch, sinking into the cocoon Midge has effectively built for her. )

When you're a whiny bitch, you should definitely drink alone. I probably deserve to drink Malort.

( And that is how she categorises herself just fyi. )

[maisel]

[ She has no idea what that last comment means, but the rest--hoo, boy. IT explains a lot. The problem is that Miriam isn't exactly sure what it explains, and it tumbles out so rapidly out of Sarissa that she has problems trying to put two and two together.

For someone who's usually quick on her feet and good at quick quips, this has thrown her for a loop. ]

I'm sorry.

[ It's all she says after a while--because she is. This isn't a one-up, this isn't a 'my problems are better than yours.' This isn't the place for it. Not with faked deaths and framings and--princess? Did she say princess? A girl, then. ]

[magnitudes]

( The pause in Miriam's usual spitfire responses make Sarissa's gaze drop, self-consciousness settling in. )

Nah. Don't even worry about it. It ain't shit that matters.

( Perhaps she said too much. Made Midge feel shitty, or something, and Sarissa rolls her shoulders, like she can gloss over it all. )

I probably deserved it, anyway. I mean, have you met me?

( She's a dick, obviously. )

[maisel]

Hey--stop hogging all that guilt, I'm Jewish, remember? Save some for me.

[ It's an attempt at a joke, and as she takes a bigger sip of wine than she's used to, she reaches over to pat Sarissa's knees. Might as well turn this to an actual girl talk and sleepover now that Sarissa's settled. ]

Where I come from, we tend to share our deepest darkest secrets over face masks, and since I've already got mine on, I'm going to make one for you.

[magnitudes]

Oh, my bad.

( A conspiratorial, over-done apology, and she smiles a little bit. )

Is this your way of saying you’re sick of my face?

[maisel]

No, it's my way of saying we should at least have a bit of fun if you're staying over.

[ She's already disappearing into her room again, yelling over her shoulder: ]

There are certain rules and regulations in this household, and you're going to uphold them and we're gonna have fun, and that's that. You're an officer, right? Think of it as a law.

[magnitudes]

I'm fun.

( Quietly indignant, as she tightens her robe about her person. How very dare this Miriam Maisel make these allegations? )

Is the fun part of the rules and regulations? Just 'cause forced fun doesn't sounds sorta paradoxical. Maybe oxymoronic.

( Said with a tone of thoughtful concern, and the sweetest smile. She is angelic and would never do anything wrong. Just ask her. )

Side note if you bring any kinda cucumber or pickle variant near me to put on my face I'll have a big sook about it.