William Halloran: ((We playing this as the night after, then?))

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She makes her way to his room early evening the next day, just after he usually leaves for his show. She doesn't bother knocking, turns the knob to see if it's open.

Brigitte Clara Deleon: (that's the soonest she would come by. if he's not there, she'd wait around for him)

William Halloran: Door's unlocked...he didn't touch it after he shut it. He's sitting amidst the wreckage of his makeshift room, back to the wall, with several empty bottles around him. Whether he's conscious or not is really difficult to say, though his eyes certainly aren't open.

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She closes the door behind her and saunters over to where he's sitting. She gives him a few soft pats to the shattered cheek, speaking softly. "Love.. Running a bit late tonight.. aren't we?"

William Halloran: His eyelids flutter a little, and he groans. "M'off t'night. S'a show night...but 'm call'n in sick t'that."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She purses her lips, looking over to him. "Are you even coherent enough to ~find~ your phone.. let alone use the damn thing?"

William Halloran: He gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, which appears to be about all the effort he can make. "Du'matter. He'll unnerstand. Nev'r misshed a show b'fore. Onl'pershon not to. I'll lie'er shomt'in.""

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She frowns down to him, giving her sternest expression. "William.. would you mind telling me why Frankie refuses to work on your shifts anymore?"

William Halloran: He goes quiet for a moment, getting a sullen expression to his bleary face. "Hadda...dis'greem'nt."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She maintains the stern look. "Don't bullshit me william.. You had the man pissing himself. He's been one of my crutch closers since opening night. What.. did you do to him?"

William Halloran: He looks down to his lap, avoiding looking at her. "Wh...why're der dead girls in th'alley?"

Brigitte Clara Deleon: "Golly, Will.. probably because someone ~leaves~ them there.. The only thing I'm concerned with is cleaning up the mess and trying to keep any signs of bad publicity ~away~ from my business."

William Halloran: He looks up at her, blinking a couple times. He's still upset, and deeply. Hurt, too. "Wa oughta be stoppin' it. N'jusht clean'n up th' fucker's mesh."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: "Then by all means.. stop it. What you do in your spare time is none of my business. But I have enough threats to worry about without sticking my neck on the chopping block just so I can fancy myself a better person for it." She stares seriously down to the man. Lips tight, her usual grin absent.

William Halloran: "Will," he says with a nod. He looks up to her gaze, looking near tears. "Y'didn't tell me wha'wash out dere. Y'shudda. M'shorry, Emma, but y'shudda." He looks to the door, a sudden burst of anger coming out. Ahh, the quick mood swings of the drunk. "An' THAT fugger--fuggin' Frankie--was fuggin' snick'rin' an' maggin fuggin jokes!"

Brigitte Clara Deleon: "I should have told you.. inside the club.. where people could overhear us, love? Use your fucking head for once.." She continues to stare down at the man "And everyone knows Frankie's a dick."

William Halloran: He bites back a response, letting his head fall back against the wall with an audbile THUNK. "M'shorry. He shtardded craggin jokes an' I...I dunno." He shrugs apathetically, his face starting to look a bit green. "Blagged out."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She stares at him for a minute, watching. Evaluating. "You're upset with me.." She states simply.

Brigitte Clara Deleon: d10: per+emp diff four: 5,9,2,8,10,

William Halloran: He shakes his head, rather recklessly. "Naw. Y'ain't done nuddin'. Sh'my fault. I shudda...shudda done shomt'in else." He shrugs, starting to lean to one side and reaching for a bottle with something in it. "M'pisshed at fuggin' Frankie. Shit ain't right. Bud I ain't pisshed atchu, Emma. Ain't yer fault."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She kicks the bottle over, to keep him from drinking further. "You need to slow your roll, William.. you're going to make yourself sick. And I don't have time with the weekend crowd to run you to the hospital."

William Halloran -> Brigitte Clara Deleon: He's a bundle of bad emotions at the moment. He's still absolutely livid at Frankie's callousness. Something deep down inside of him snapped last night when he saw the whole scene. He's scared of that...deeply scared, because it reminds him of his killing his father. And he blames himself for letting it go on and being unaware...he's resolute to put a stop to it now. He does not blame Brigitte, though. She's far, far above him, and while he may not understand her reactions or motivations, and is hurt by it, he doesn't blame her. Likely, in his mind, he just doesn't understand.

William Halloran: He flinches when she kicks the bottle over, shrinking away from it. "'kay."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She frowns down to him, laying a soft hand on the top of his head. "And so help me william.. if you run off to play vigilante and manage to get yourself killed in the process.. I will pull all the strings in the book to make your afterlife absolutely ~unbearable~, understood?"

William Halloran: He looks down, face flushing. Red and green don't go well together, no matter what Christmas Wrapping Paper says. "Ain't gonna get kilt, Emma. Promish."

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She gives him a kiss to the top of the head. "Good boy. Now.. I need to get back upstairs. If you want to stay down here, that's fine.. but no more drinking. Not tonight. I'll check in every hour to make sure you're honoring my request." She starts to saunter off toward the stairs.

William Halloran: He nods a little bit, moving to push the bottles away. A sound quite unlike a happy stomach comes from his abdomen. "'kay. 'scuse me..." He makes a very, very clumsy stumble to his feet, running, slipping, and stumbling to his bathroom area.

Brigitte Clara Deleon: She cracks a tiny smile, making her way up the stairs. "Get well, William. Love you!" She blows him a kiss and heads back to the club proper.

William Halloran: He doesn't respond, busy emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. But he does take her up on the offer of staying down there...and despite his desire to, doesn't drink. ((WP spent to resist addiction for the rest of the night))

Brigitte Clara Deleon: And she does just as she said she would, comes to check on him every hour, give or take twenty minutes. Always brief and stern until he stars to sober up. When he gets to feeling better, she invites him to sleep upstairs with her if he likes.

Brigitte Clara Deleon: (danke danke. i'ma head out)

William Halloran: He does take her up on the offer, once sober. ((Thank you too!))