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Lucky Stone
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>Two drinks for a buzz
Enough to feel it but Henry’ll be totally sober by the time he needs to drive home to his wife and warm bed, and there’s no risk he’ll say something he regrets.
>Thoughts aren’t actions
True, but they still make him feel guilty and bad. He’ll talk to his pals about it and see what they have to say.
Henry pours himself a glass of the fanciest bourbon he can find and helps himself to one of those big round ice cubes from the freezer before loading a plate up with chips and dip and heading to the living room. Mahan grunts at him in greeting from the armchair before returning laser focus to the unfolding baseball game, in position to leap to his feet and rail at the coaches, the umpires, rude customers at the diner, and the wider world at a moment’s notice. Victor comes to join Henry on the brown leather couch soon after.
>Bring up dark roleplay as a way to segue into feelings
Henry waits for a lull in the action, otherwise he risks getting cussed out by the prickly pika. “Hey, you guys ever think about stuff, I dunno, like doing something really stupid and impulsive?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.” Victor says absently.
“Okay, okay, you know how people do freaky roleplay or chase each other through the woods, kind of to let the beast out, y’know? To act on those dark urges we all have.”
“Are we talking about people or are we talking about you?”
Henry groans and downs his drink. “Yes I’m talking about me but it’s a general thought. Like, what do you do when you don’t have an outlet, or you have an outlet but for some reason it still feels like you’re getting filled up with poison? I don’t want to actually do something fucked up.”
“Then don’t, dumbass.” Mahan drains his own booze and stands up to get a refill.
“Maybe you can do some introspection and try to understand where these feelings are coming from.” Victor suggests. “Are they caused by anger and fear? Stress at your job?”
“Well…I don’t know. It’s stupid, but I guess I’ve been kind of scared that Jess is going to leave me or something.” Henry grips his glass extra tight. One of his knuckles pops.
“Has she given you any indication that she’s unhappy?”
“No. It’s been the same as always, good. Really good.”
“Hm, that’s interesting. I’d be happy to talk about it one on one later.”
Mahan returns to mutter vague threats at the flatscreen and soon after the gonging doorbell signals Becca’s arrival. Henry fills up on snacks and starts to feel a little more relaxed as the bourbon warms his body.
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