Navigating the Darkness (Miranda)

Damien strongly disliked wasting his days working. Often he did - sometimes he had no choice - but mostly he worked the night shifts that nobody else wanted. What usually happened was he would work until the early hours of the morning, before going out and getting stoned at the Dragon or in London, then spending the next day in bed until evening when he would go and do it again. Tonight, though, he'd got a bit ahead on the drinking and started at work. Few people came in at midnight, and nobody at all would know if he indulged in one or two - or five or six - bottles of various alcohol, vodka to firewhiskey.

So when his shift ended and he closed up shop, he was left out on the street uncharacteristically cheerful. His drunken state varied from occasion to occasion - sometimes he was angry and yelled abuse at strangers, other times he was more bubbly and happy than a teletubby. It was difficult to refrain from dancing his way along the cobbled stone pavement, but Damien managed it, instead taking huge swigs of the firewhiskey bottle he was clutching onto as though his life depended on it. The street was fairly busy for so late at night, but he supposed it was all the people heading in and out of the Dancing Dragon, right next to the shop.

The world seemingly spinning around him, he stopped where he was walking and leaned against the wall. Before a moment passed, he had slid down the wall into an odd uncomfortable sitting position, one leg stuck out awkwardly. He was hardly conscious of what was happening anymore. The mild noise and colours of the street spun around him. It was nice, drinking until he hardly felt anything anymore. He didn't feel much normally, he supposed, but there was always a sense of underlying depression and dark awareness of what he was, and what he did.

Practically oblivious to his surroundings, he was only shocked back into reality when he felt someone trip over his outstretched leg. At the sight of the woman, highly intoxicated Damien couldn't help but burst into fits of giggles at the situation. Because obviously, it was absolutely hilarious. "You... you..." He couldn't finish the slur of the words, partly because it was difficult to get out between the giggling, partly because he'd forgotten what he'd meant to say in the first place.

A night out. That was what Miranda needed. She smiled to herself as she got ready. She decided to wear a short sparkly black skirt that came about to mid thigh, and a lime green tank top. She didn't care how slutty she looked, she just needed a night out with all the hours she had been giving to Ollivander's. Her hair had grown a little bit since the last time she cut it. It was now shoulder length, and she had given herself some bangs. She fixed them up to look a little messy, and grabbed her black clutch and out the door she went. Tonight, she decided to be dangerous and explore the clubs in Knockturn Alley. In all the years she had been in Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley was the one place she hadn't been brave enough to explore. Well, tonight she decided would be the night. And she would get drunk doing it. She walked down the alleyway not caring about the weird stairs she was getting as she walked confidentially towards her destination.

She smiled as she found a pub. She walked in not caring about anything, and walked straight to the bar. She demanded shot after shot, firewhiskey after firewhiskey. She decided she was done after she lost count of how many drinks she had. She was a little worried about not being able to walk to her flat, but decided that Alek would probably let her up if she begged him good enough. In her drunkin state, she found that she liked to flirt with anything that had legs, male or female. The bartender just so happened to be a male. She smiled and twirled her hair in her finger. She said, "I'mmmm M-Mir-randa." She couldn't even say her own name. She was pathetic. The bar tender just rolled his eyes a little bit as if he was used to getting hit on by drunk girls all the time. Miranda thought that he should be as he was a lot attractive. At least, in her blury eyed drunk state. Once she realized that the bar tender wasn't giving her attention, she said, "I'm b-bored."

She wobbley stood up and walked towards the door. Well, at that point there were three doors, and she had to chose the right one without making a fool of herself and walking into either a wall, or another human being. Thankfully, she found the right door. She walked into the alleyway almost falling on her face. But it wasn't her fault. There was a post in the way that tripped her! But what she realized soon enough wasn't a post, but a man. She found it weird that the post had talked to her. But the man seemed almost just as drunk as she was. He couldn't form sentences. She could barley make out his facial features, so she couldn't tell if he was attractive or not, but from the butterfly senses in her stomach she was getting, she guessed he was. Or was that vomit? She burped in his direction as he just said, "You." Apparently that was the most hilarious thing ever because Miranda started laughing. But then, it wasn't just laughter that came out of her mouth. Miranda projectile vomited all over the man. She burped again, and just continued laughing. Tonight was a night about giving zero fucks, and zero fucks was what she was giving.