Participants:
| Scene Title | No Hair Of The Dog |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Russo unwittingly steps into the morning parlor of the woman who told the spider what to dose the fly up with. |
| Date | October 11, 2010 |
Sunday's are a closed day for Oh So Sweet. Doesn't meant there's not someone in it. Abigail's spending some time there, getting ready for the next day. The door open to let in a breeze, the blonde owner is flitting from table to table, having finished mopping, is now filling the sugar shakers on the table. Music plays, a male crooning through the air about playing with fire. Sunday best on in the form of a blue dress, pale cardigan and flats, a GPS tracker attached snug around her ankle, she's unaware to a degree that she might get unexpected customers.
There's something wholly unsure as Brad shuffles into the sweets shop. He's a little haphazard about the store, especially as some people (those who shall not be named) prefer he has smoothies rather than crabs and fat for breakfast. Not that he's concerned. He's casually dressed, obviously not for work in a pair of dark wash jeans and a grey Harvard t-shirt.
"H-hello?" he asks rather than states while his hands shove into his pockets. His face flushes slightly in quiet consideration of the facts and whether he ought to be here or not, he is. He slides into the bar and glances at the menu. His paled face, tinges on green as he rests his elbows on the bar. All in all? He doesn't look like he should be out of his apartment let alone in public at a place where people eat.
From that back room that serves as the hub for those tethered to their wifi like some unholy umbilical, Abby's face peers from around the corner, surprised that someone made it so far into the bar and up to the counter. "Hi. Welcome to Oh So Sweet…" Hesitance in her voice. She carries the sugar shaker with her and around to the business end of the bar so that she ends up in front of him, peering up at the man with the green face.
She's surprised. After Kristens huff, she'd made sure to watch The Advocate. And now, here was the host, looking like shit and in her shop. "You look like the ass end of something that goes hee haw. Rough night?" She keeps her voice low, sympathetic. "Need a little hair of the dog?"
"I…" Russo forces a flicker of a smile that fades a moment later. He's used to faking it, and generally does his best to do so. With a slight frown he shakes his head, "Just… can't…" His jaw tightens as he smiles again and shakes his head before taking a quarter turn on his bar stool, trying to decide whether to stay or leave. Everything about him has been sick lately, especially with his favourite past times.
He runs a hand across his forehead before shaking his head. "I think… We're not… Ehn. Sorry. Let me try that again," he forces that toothy grin. "I'm not well… what is hair of the dog?"
'What did you drink last, last night, before you left wherever you were and then woke up?" Abby's already fetching a glass. Orange juice fetched from beneath the bar. "I used to own a full fledged bar. I don't get drunk. Well no, I have been a few times, but, but I know few tricks to help. The supposed sure cure to a hangover, is called the hair of the dog that bit you. Or, a little bit of the last alcohol that you drank and other stuff" The two mouthfuls of orange juice are pushed over. "That's sugar, drink it. It'll help" This is followed by two advil. "And those. That'll help too. Trust me, I'm an EMT. Now, hair of the dog. What bit you?"
"This is the thing… I…" Brad's eyes narrow before he's shaking his head. "I just seem to have trouble with… with keeping it down." His eyes smile even if his lips don't, it's unspoken, but his issues are his own, not meant for the public sphere. He turns fully on the stool and slides off of it, "I… shouldn't be here. I honestly…" there's a pause as he takes the orange juice and brings it to his lips, swallowing back the juice. "Even a little. It's making me sick. All of it."
"Do you need to lay down? The staff room has a couch. I can get you a cold pack if you need it. Some place quiet and cool, if you need to hide out" Abby smiles at the man. "From Kristen, lest she kick your arse about drinking" She knows that might raise the creep flag. "Your Brad Russo, from the Advocate, and unknowingly insulted your producer. She was a little chatty in the vintage store, and I never expected you would ever step foot in my place."
Abigail reaches out, laying her hand on the counter but not making to touch him. "Not after I put my foot in my mouth and called your show little. Really thoughh. Go, I can bring you some water and a cold rag. You're not the first hangover I've met"
"This isn't… " Russo holds up a hand "…I'm not… I mean… I've been hung over before. This isn't like that. It's not… I don't… it's barely in my system and then — " He pushes his fingertips together and makes a small exploding sound. "And no headache. You know that splitting pain in your brain that makes you want to dig into your skull and pull out lobes of brain? Yeah… don't have that. Just. Not good."
He whistles lowly at the comment about insulting Kristen, "K is… sensitive about the show. She's been working it for ages. I guess we both have."
"Oh my lord, she didn't…" Realization dawns on Abigail's face when Russo lays out his symptoms.
Those pills.
The hand that had been on the counter drifts to her hand, cheeks coloring pink. "I am… so sorry. Really, I didn't think she'd.. do it… It was only a suggestion"
Brad games a little at the apology, he doesn't know what Abby is apologizing for. His cheeks flush a little as his eyebrows knit in confusion. "What are you apologizing for?" There's another pause as Russo swallows around the lump in his throat. Things are coming a little clearer as he runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat, "What did she do?"
Abigails other hand joins her up at her mouth, debating whether to come clean about what she suspects. She lowers her hands, held out palms down as if it might keep him calm the light glinting off the ring on her left hand. "Really, Mister Russo, I didn't think she'd do it, I mean, you can't get the prescription unless she went and got it for herself." Abigail shakes her head. "Disulfiram, it's a pill, sometimes used to help combat alcoholism…."
There's a distinct narrowing of Brad's eyes as he shakes his head. "Dammit, K." HE clears his throat, "Damed irresponsible." The murmur is just that, bitter words of a man betrayed by one of the few friends he actually has in the world. "I always knew she was like that…" Pursing his lips, he shakes his head again. "What do I do? Stop eating everything she tries to feed me? I wonder if there's a way to fake side effects… I could pretend to have some really pronounced side effects…" This actually has his lips stretching into a mischievous smile.
"It doesn't do anything, unless you drink alcohol" Which meant that Russo had drank something. "I mean I have computer…" She gestures to the setup behind the bar. "It should go away after an hour… I looked it up when I got back from the store" What does he do though? "Don't… let her prepare your stuff? Be self sufficient…" Don't let your producer run your life in other words.
"She cares about you" She points out, quietly, "She wouldn't have done it if she didn't care about you"
"Ha! The woman lets herself into my apartment and could've replaced anything anything. She might care, but it's about her cash cow, not her friend." Brad's eyebrows arch now as he shakes his head and finally slides off the stool. He reaches into his coat and extracts his wallet followed by too much money for his orange juice, the truth about the anti-alcohol drugs enough to warrant the extra cash. He gives her a wink. "Hey. Thanks… I think I'll be off. I… it turns out I have some research to do." He leaves with a twinkle in his eyes, that mischief that he so often reserves for Kristen.
The money is pushed back. "Place isn't open. It's closed, therefore, I couldn't have served you anything" He's going to go, she can't stop him. "You sure you don't want to go to the back to lay down? You shouldn't drive on that stuff, you could pass out" She cautions. "I can't let you drive like this" There's a hint of pleading in her voice. "If you drove, leave your keys, I can drop them off at the Corinthian and you can take a taxi to wherever you have to go"
"Nah. I'm good. Didn't drive," he wouldn't have thought to stop here if he had. "Just walking. Thinking." And for once that yielded the right answer. "I'll walk back. I have… work to do." He half smiles before actually leaving the store, issuing her a small salute before tacking on, "I owe you one. I would've been tweakin' for ages." He shrugs before actually exiting the store, and disappearing through the door.
Abigail watches the star of the Advocate go and leave, hand coming down on the empty glass that had held the orange juice, worry weighing down on her brow. Meddling has once again done something and Abigail doesn't know what it will do. "Well. Aren't you proud of yourself" She admonishes to her reflection in the mirror.
'Probably going to need to bake another five hundred stupid muffins"