This choice: Late that night, post party when Uma raids the townhouse fridge • Go Back... Okay, so maybe busy wasn't exactly the best word to describe how Uma had been living her best life these days. Occupied was probably a better way to do it. Uma hadn't been doing things that resulted in productivity, so much as she had just been killing time. Especially lately.
It had just been one of those funks—everyone gets into them now and again, after all—where actually doing things seemed to fall by the wayside. It was especially easy for someone like Uma to fall into them when there were four other people in the house who could (and sometimes, did) pick up her slack. It wasn't that there was anything wrong, or that there was some underlying problem that needed treating. Uma had just gotten a little lax when it came to remembering her duties around the house, a little too comfortable being late with the rent, and just a little absorbed in her own goings-on than that of the rest of the house.
HIC!
Uma had stumbled, swaying uneasily and still very drunk, onto the ground floor of their shared apartment building and into the kitchenette. It was 3 in the morning and, presumably, everyone else had long gone too sleep. Steadying herself on the fridge, the stocky former athlete toddled uneasily as the room's darkness seemed to spin around her.
"Ooughhhh..."
Closing her eyes just made it worse. It somehow seemed to accelerate the speed at which Uma lost her sense of balance. It was only a passing discomfort, but one that was becoming more prominent as the night went on. It was clear, even to Drunk Uma, that she had had far, far too much to drink.
"You know what that means, it's Carb Timeeeeee~"
She had said it with a stupid, drunken slurring as she grabbed the handle to the fridge. Blinking away the harsh difference in light, Uma lunged inside and grabbed the sandwich meat. Placing it in the door for safe keeping, she grabbed the mayo with her now freed hand, as well as a tomato out of the crisper drawer. Then she shut the door, only to remember that she'd put the meat inside, opened the door, left the mayonnaise...
"C'mon, Uma..."
Finally, she had enough to make a sandwich. Delicious potato bread carbs that would help her absorb all of the alcohol in her system. Reaching for the bread on top of the fridge, Uma pressed her softening tum against the cool white surface as it hummed with electricity. Then she came down, opened the utensil drawer, grabbed a butter knife to cut the tomato...
"Oh shit, Reese's cups—thank you, Audrey..."
Uma made a loose, wobbly snatch at the little candy dish and came back with three packaged cups. She had already started unwrapping the first one by the time the light flicked on in the hallway. Not that Uma noticed Reagan Durant sauntering into the common area, wide hips swishing even in her casual after-midnight stroll.
"Jesus Christ Uma, you trying to wake the whole house up?"
Uma jumped dramatically, only to relax upon seeing that it was Reagan. Or Phoebe. Reagan? They were twins, and it could be kind of hard to tell them apart sober. And Uma had done a lot of things tonight, but remain sober was not one of them.
"Heeeeeey girrrrrrrl~" Uma hadn't been able to say it without laughing, "I'm jus'... y'know... jus' a li'l..."
"Drunk?" Reagan cocked an eyebrow with a little snort, "Yeah, obviously—here, hand me that knife before you stab yourself to death by accident."
Uma complied readily without really realizing the implications. A few shots less and Uma might have been Drunk Angry about Reagan implying that she couldn't cut a damn tomato by herself. But after God, how much had she drank tonight?a lot of mixed drinks and a couple of beers, Uma couldn't have cared less. She just wanted the sandwich. And the Reese's Cups.
"You have fun tonight?" Reagan asked as she sliced the tomato in sober, smooth motions, "You know it's like 3am, right? If I were Audrey, you'd be dead."
"But you're not. You're Reagan(probably) and you're making me a sandwich and I love you."
"Jesus, can you not even open the..." Reagan sighed as she took one of the cups from Uma's little pile and started unwrapping it, "You're a hot mess, Oomy."
Uma was absolutely delighted at the newly liberated chocolates and, after peeling wrapper off, shoved one whole in her mouth while Reagan finished up her sandwich. By the time the round-bootied redhead was done with it, it was a surprisingly thick plate-filler of a thing. It had about a half-inch of meats (Reagan had gone back in to get the roast beef that had been cooling in the fridge to go with the turkey while Uma was mastering the orange wrapper on her peanut butter cup) with thick slices of tomato, and dripping with mayo out the sides.
It was certainly better than anything that Uma could have done in her sorry state. It was probably better than anything Uma would have actually made herself. And right now, it looked like the best damn thing in the world.
"I made it extra thick." Reagan slid it onto a plate and gave it to her roommate from across the bar counter divider, "You know, carbs."
"Fuck yeah, Ray Ray, you get it."
"Oh God, you really are drunk—you only call me Ray Ray when you're wasted"
"Ray Rayyyyyyyyyy"
The two of them laughed while Uma stuffed too much of the sandwich into her face at one time. She'd gotten plenty to eat at the party, but something about being drunk made Uma especially prone to put things into her mouth. Not always food, but... well, lately it had been food. A lot of it. And combined with the fact that she hadn't been exercising as much (and drinking a lot, even for her) it was no wonder that she was starting to go a little soft in the middle.
"So you're gonna wake up tomorrow and, like... work out tomorrow, right?" Reagan chuckled at Uma's expense, "Hashtag Rise and Grind?"
"Fffffuck no." Uma said a little too loudly and with too much sandwich in her mouth, "I'm gonna feel like shit and die tomorrow."
"At least you're honest—I feel like if I asked you two months ago, you would have told me you were gonna go out and get a job after you worked out."
"That's because I'm fuckin' dumb sometimes." Uma said with a big chomp of her sandwich, "Drunk Uma says dumb shit."
"Regular Uma says dumb shit."
"Regular Uma says dumb shit." Uma repeated passionately, "I know when I'm gonna feel dead in the morning."
"Well, you've been doing it enough to know by now I suppose."
In her drunken state, Uma missed that little aside comment in favor of internally monologuing over how good of a sandwich Reagan could make, and how she'd have to remember to ask her to make her another one sometime because holy shit.
"You gonna be able to make it up the stairs okay?"
"I think so." Uma smacked her lips as she relished the flavor of her 3am carb and calorie bomb, "Bed for Dead Uma."
"Okay..." Reagan eyed the drunken athlete warily, "You good, Uma?"
"M'good." she burped a bourbon belch, "Thanks for the sammy, Ray Ray."
"I'll remind you of my kindness when you're hungover as hell tomorrow."
Uma flashed her a grin as her redheaded roomie passed her to head back to the stairwell.
"Are you sure that you're okay?" Reagan asked again, this time a little more personal, "You've been drinking a lot lately."
"I'm good, I promise. I'll be good. Starting tomorrow, I'll be good."
With that, not really satisfied with Uma's answer but unwilling to press her any further, Reagan grabbed herself a glass of water (the reason that she'd come downstairs in the first place) and returned to the hallway and went up the stairs. Uma was left to her own devices in the kitchen. She ate her sandwich, guzzled a glass of water, and headed towards the staircase.
"Ohhhhh fuck."
Only to find that climbing the staircase in her condition was downright irresponsible, and collapsed on the couch for the night. Still drunk, and with a full belly.
"Aud won't be too mad if I just crash down here tonight..."  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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