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]

( 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.