spaghetti thursday on a friday — private

[tinsel]

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she wasn't really sure when she'd picked up the pamphlet, but the front page said ten signs you're an alcoholic and sign number one was drinking alone. however, bianca reasoned that it was probably fine, because she didn't do it all that often (just once a week wasn't often, right?), and she was drinking wine. wine, while alcohol, was just a really old fruit salad. and she was eating while she drank, if you could call a sleeve of ritz eating.

a bottle and a half of wine later, though, and it was definitely effecting her head. a little giddy, a little less tired than she'd been earlier, the blonde flipped her television to mtv, and as the music played in the background, she slipped her phone from her pocket. she'd heard some girls in a diner some time ago complain about drunk texting their exes, and bianca finds herself admittedly glad that, at nearly twenty-eight years old, she doesn't have any exes. well, if you count kendrick, then one - but do dead guys even count? regardless, texting some ex boyfriend from two years ago that she wanted him back wasn't really a worry. texting friends suggestive things? well, she hadn't thought that was something to be concerned about. apparently, it was.

seeking out the first person in her contacts who could probably fall for her joke, she snickered as she typed can you tell me if these noods are hot? she hoped he wouldn't question her spelling, since the whole joke depended on the spelling. clicking send, she'd drop her phone and burst into laughter, clearly finding herself hilarious.

[member=643]ELIAS.[/member]

[Beatles.]

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Drinking alone? Elias knew the feeling. He had experienced it countless times, but was it necessarily because he was in a slump? No. It was because he ran a bar and he had all the free liquor at his disposal. Maybe there were nights when he was in a bad mood, so why not take some shots of Fireball? Nobody was stopping him. He hadn't been doing so much of that as of lately, though, and he had mostly been sticking to a can of beer a day or a shot or two when his friends visited the bar, but he had no reason to get drunk. The paranoia-inducing thoughts had yet to plague his mind this month, and for the first time in a long time, his head felt clear. With everything happening with the split of Kalopsia and the politics and such, his mind had been taken off of the memories and feelings that haunted him for nearly a whole lifetime.

Eli was, however, tired as hell. He always seemed to be tired when he got home from work, really. He closed late and after a long day of memorizing orders, chatting with customers, and stocking barrels, he was worn it. It was a daily cycle, though Eli managed to make himself look well-rested to avoid dark circles gathering under his eyes. He only really got a break when another employee took over the closing shift, but as the owner, Elias always felt inclined to close. Now that he was home, he had quickly hopped into bed and slipped under the covers. Before turning out the light on his nightstand, though, he was alerted to a text-notification coming from his phone. He took the device into his hands and illuminated the screen, his eyes scanning the message that he had just received from... Bianca? It was strange for her to text him at this time of night — but then again, the message itself was strange. "Noods"? Alarm bells immediately went off in his brain, and the only reply he could think to send was: What? His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he waited for a response.

[tinsel]

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he took the bait.

[i][u]what? appeared on the screen, and she grinned, thoroughly delighted. rolling off the couch in a rather graceful movement for someone who'd had as much to drink as she had, she snatches the wine glass off of the coffee table (or was it a wine table? she never really put coffee on it anyways.) and shuffled into the kitchen, finding it difficult to drink and walk. once inside, she set the wine glass on the counter, tore through the fridge, and produced a clear tupperware container with some spaghetti from earlier that evening, sauce-free at the moment.

it took another minute to pull up the camera, but when she did, she took a picture of the buttered noodles and hit send. [u]noods. y'know, noodles. she typed, sending it, followed by [u]do they look hot? drunk bianca was a bad comedian.

[Orion]

// ooc track bc im laughing so hardsksksksk

[Beatles.]

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; color: black; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"]Elias could have sworn that he was holding his breath for the next few seconds. He... hadn't known what to expect, really. He hadn't even thought of the possibility of "noods" being short for something else, but he had thought of it to be an "alternate spelling" for some other word. It was really random and unexpected, though. Bianca was his friend... and not even a close friend, at that. Where was this coming from, and why?

He almost wanted to shut off his phone right then and there, or maybe block her number. Elias didn't know what he would respond back with. He didn't even know if he could at all.

The bare-chested man laid on his side, the screen illuminating his creasing features. Then, his phone buzzed: an image. Elias gulped and opened the conversation between him and Bianca, only to realize that the only "noods" he saw her actual fucking noodles. Eli was really confused, though Bianca clarified what she meant. A slow exhale escaped him; a sigh of relief. Jesus Christ, what was she trying to do? Freak him out? Bianca; what a damn joker. Not really actually Eli replied, his thumbs pattering against the screen. You should put some spaghetti sauce on that It was followed by, Or pesto He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing eating pasta so late at night. Granted, he was a bit of an early sleeper, but that was only because he worked late hours.