[ She'd closed up at the bar early, seeing as how they'd had a total of two customers her whole shift, a stolen bottle of Jack tucked under her arm as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Stopping in her tracks at the messy trail of blood on the ground in front of her, she sets the bottle down, drawing the gun holstered inside her jacket and stepping quietly into the entryway to follow the bloody trail towards the bathroom. ]
If this is some kind of practical joke, it's a pretty shitty one.
hurt me, comfort me
If this is some kind of practical joke, it's a pretty shitty one.