Susannah Dean (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dividedgirlofmine) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thecapitol2014-03-22 11:18 pm
dividedgirlofmine) wrote in thecapitol2014-03-22 11:18 pm
Entry tags:
psychiatric help 5¢
Who| Susannah and Harley (Closed)
What| A sleepover turns into a bit of headshrinking
Where| Harley's room in the D9 suite
When| backdated to the night of Susannah's first day back after the arena, after the drinks mentioned in this thread
Warnings/Notes| Manipulative Harley,strong chance of Detta Walker being conjured up Detta Walker is definitely in this log with everything that fucking implies in the link
"I'm afraid, Doctor Quinn," Susannah says with exaggerated care, "that I am quite sloshed."
She's on Harley's bed, the two of them sort of tumbled into it (Susannah with Harley's help) after their night of drinking, and so far Susannah's made no motion to return to her wheelchair and travel the next floor up to her own room and bed.
She's not entirely sure if 'quite sloshed' is the correct term for her current level of inebriation, but she's definitely a wee tiny bit drunk. Maybe a little more. Not so much her words are slurred, really, but enough to feel a bit muzzy-headed. And why not? She wasn't in the arena. She wasn't on the job. She didn't need to worry someone would murder her if she relaxed a little bit.
"Quite sloshed," she repeats herself. "What's your diagnosis, sugar? Doctor. Doctor Sugar?"
What| A sleepover turns into a bit of headshrinking
Where| Harley's room in the D9 suite
When| backdated to the night of Susannah's first day back after the arena, after the drinks mentioned in this thread
Warnings/Notes| Manipulative Harley,
"I'm afraid, Doctor Quinn," Susannah says with exaggerated care, "that I am quite sloshed."
She's on Harley's bed, the two of them sort of tumbled into it (Susannah with Harley's help) after their night of drinking, and so far Susannah's made no motion to return to her wheelchair and travel the next floor up to her own room and bed.
She's not entirely sure if 'quite sloshed' is the correct term for her current level of inebriation, but she's definitely a wee tiny bit drunk. Maybe a little more. Not so much her words are slurred, really, but enough to feel a bit muzzy-headed. And why not? She wasn't in the arena. She wasn't on the job. She didn't need to worry someone would murder her if she relaxed a little bit.
"Quite sloshed," she repeats herself. "What's your diagnosis, sugar? Doctor. Doctor Sugar?"