brigitte feels strange. ( but don't they always? ) there's a rumbling in its stomach its desperate to ignore, but she's been driving for hours, fleeing from the scene of the crime, the mutilated corpse of her only friend. ( could they call their captor a friend? ghost's good intentions aside. starving it in the cellar, what else did she expect to happen? )
it sits at the bar with its arms wrapped around its middle, embracing itself and rocking gently forward to ease their aching abdomen. they look up at the bartender when he approaches and do their best to appear normal, stopping the rocking and grasping the edge of the bar with a white knuckled grip. "i don't usually drink," she confesses awkwardly. "what's not gonna totally fuck up my stomach?"
@tewwor liked this for a starter!
