(no subject)

[ooc: Set Wednesday night and Thursday morning]

His attempt to work was a failure. Why Bobby expected any different was a mystery, even to him. When midnight came and all he'd managed to do was bloody his knuckles, he gave up. He tossed a change of clothes into one of his saddlebags, a bottle of whiskey in the other. Then he changed clothes, put on his leathers, and prepped his bike.

He set off for Virginia Beach and what was quite likely going to be a failed attempt at drowning. He had decided he would pick up a surfboard once he'd landed again. And maybe, just maybe, if the board broke this time, it would break him, too.

Driving straight through, he was rolling up on the beach just a little while after sunrise. Having driven to a place he went often, he got the bike right to the edge of the sand before stopping. He sat down in the sand and watched the waves roll in, trying to get a feel for what the day would bring. A few early morning die hards were on the water, but he had the sand to himself.

It took him about an hour to find his feet and walk back to his bike. He took the whiskey from the bag and cracked the seal as he watched the tide start to come in. Longer, lower waves told him the surfing might be better toward evening, which meant he had time to drink and sleep.

Still, he didn't leave the beach.

Near the front tire of his bike, he sat down and started working on the bottle. It was a slow, steady process of consuming the liquor, done completely without thinking. Those thoughts were directed elsewhere.

Bobby hadn't realized he was crying until he tasted the salt of his tears on the lip of the bottle. He pulled the bottle back and looked at it for a few moments before he thought to touch his cheeks. The tears unnerved him, confusing him because he had no idea what had brought them on.

That they refused to stop only made matters worse. After a few more drinks from the bottle, he snapped. He stood up suddenly and turned. With a cry of helpless rage, he threw the bottle at the asphalt of the parking lot, watching it shatter against the dark ground. The sound of breaking glass made things worse. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and rocked on the balls of his feet. He felt completely helpless for the first time in his life, completely out of control worse than he ever had when he was on drugs.

When he got himself enough pulled together to drive, he headed for the nearest hotel and checked himself in. He didn't even take off his jacket or chaps before he fell into the bed. The sleep that took him was one of powerless exhaustion, days and days of no answers and no closure tearing him enough apart that he didn't even want to be awake.

[507 words]

Drunken Delusions (rp for captain_breacan) [Complete]

Bobby's goal of getting himself drowned had not been very successful. But he'd gotten a couple of hours of really good boarding between bottles of cheap whiskey. It had actually been nice, giving him a chance to just let go of everything.

A fair bit of that second bottle had been drank on the beach and he had some vague recollection of seeing Breacan there, on the water, talking to some magical woman who appeared out of the sea. But things like that didn't happen. Well, they did, but only when he was several sheets to the wind, like he had been.

When he found himself finally alone, his delusions having left him, he gathered his board and his bottle up. He stumbled back to his hotel room, and stripped so he could wash the saltwater, sand, and the strangeness away. Only the physical went. Still feeling like he'd been part of something he maybe shouldn't have, he dropped himself, naked, onto the bed and passed out.