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Content Warningdrug mentions, probably some significant drunkenness

You're black ice on the road on a drunken summer night, but
I got your number, your name, and your will to fight
Will you be coming over? Will you be coming? Reckon you might

December, 1889 — Brooks' Flat

Six weeks. Mor had left Brooks alone for six weeks, when she was a verifiable shut-in, leaving only to see some of her friends or to go to a private room of the library, or occasionally to acquire laudanum, which would at least numb out some of the hours while she waited for the scandal to ebb. She may have managed to leave him alone for longer, but the previous night she spent time kissing Orion, and the experience mostly left her missing Brooks.

She had, actually, broken into his flat once before. They'd been courting, and she left him a flirtatious note. This time, she left the house near midnight and broke in with nothing to offer but the engagement ring she had in the pocket of her jacket. The smell of liquor assaulted her nose as soon as she made it in through the front door and closed it behind her.

She followed the smell to Brooks' parlor, where he was looking particularly disheveled. "Hmm," Mor hummed, considering the wreckage she had left.

  

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set by Bee

Without being responsible for going to work tomorrow, the drink had truly overcome him. In the last six weeks were a bit of a blur; work, which was dicey and home to get drunk. Sometimes he ventured out on the weekends to an opium den or some other salacious vice, but tonight he was in the mood to be alone and not to deal with the looks or worry about his mouth. The booze always brought out the  bitter in him and he had a lot to be bitter about lately.

He was laid out on the sofa, shirt halfway unbuttoned, untucked, sleeves rolled up and a bottle of whiskey that was three-quarters of the way gone after getting home from the ministry earlier. It wasn't a good look. He knew it wasn't a good look, but it hadn't interfered with his work yet and so he was going to keep pushing the boundary until it pushed back.

A noise in another part of the house registered in his head, but he didn't give it much thought. If somebody was breaking in to kill him, well they best get it over with. Instead, the noise that greeted him, much closer than expected, was a familiar voice and mannerism he'd heard a thousand times before. "Ah fuck I can't even get drunk without you haunting me." He put his hand dramatically to his head and covered his eyes hoping she would disappear.

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He was covering his eyes. He smelled of liquor. Morrigan had never, actually, seen someone this drunk — she had certainly never been this drunk. She considered Brooks with an interest that was both sympathetic and scientific. Would he even remember that she had been here? The engagement ring felt like a lead weight in her pocket.

"It's only haunting if you don't want to see me," Morrigan said. It would have been a jest if she did not believe it to be true. It was a shame, she thought — he would never entirely understand that this was better for him. "Are you going to vomit?" People who were this drunk vomited, didn't they? She would prefer to avoid that.

  

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set by Bee

Did he want to see her? He supposed not. He probably shouldn't want to see her, but since she was a figment of his imagination, what was the harm? "No." The nausea wouldn't kick in until later, once he'd stopped. If he stopped. Maybe tonight would be the night he drank himself to death. It was an option. That was an exaggeration. He would survive this, didn't particularly want to end his life, he just needed more time and more numbness to get through it. "Whatever you've come to say, just get it over with." Brooks was much more in the mood to wallow in his misery in solitude.

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God, this was bleak. Was this how she looked, when people came in on her? "I've been trying laudanum," Mor said, like it was a helpful suggestion. "Slows you down just as much, but I think it's faster." She did not want to become one of those people who relied on it, so she was trying to only use it sometimes — and sometimes she wanted party potions. Or Orion, apparently.

She was not sure that he would remember this. Maybe this was why she still hadn't brought up the ring.

"I kissed someone else, recently. Didn't work."

  

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set by Bee

Why, why was her ghost here telling him the methods she was using to what? Dull the pain? Fill the void? She'd left him, did she not remember that? "Good for you." He spat, taking a swig of the liquor bottle in his hand. His head was swimming and he'd lost his filter. Laudanum was tempting though. He'd tried it a few times in the past, hadn't liked the feeling too much then, but he hadn't been trying to escape reality then, just dabbling. Maybe he ought to see if he could corral some friends into going to the opium den. Now there was something he hadn't considered in a while. It was easy to forget things while that high.

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