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Judas didn't need a reason to get drunk and high. He had all the supplies he needed in his little run down apartment. And it wasn't like he had a job or any real responsibilities to get to in a day. It was enough reason to fade out of the world for a little bit, even if it was a weekday and still light out.
To be honest, when he thought these sort of things he just got really high in his apartment and ordered food. But this time he got more fucked up then he meant to and couldn't figure out what he wanted or even how to order anything. He stared at his brick phone for what felt like hours before he felt okay enough to stand up and stagger his way to Walmart, not daring to danger his baby (aka his car) with the drive.
The clouds above made him thankful he'd was wearing a hoodie before he got high (the mental capacity he'd need to struggle in a hoodie was beyond him right now). And when the automatic doors to Walmart slid open he felt like kneeling and saying a prayer.
'Weird,' he thought, while staring at the tiled floor that had been much further away a second ago. It took him too long to realize he was actually kneeling and by that time the elderly person that greeted customers at the door was staring hard at him.
He got off the floor as quickly as he could, stumbling back a few steps before spotting exactly what he needed for his wobbly legs: a motorized cart near the door. With the greeter still staring, he hopped in (his knees sort of straddling the basket in front because his legs were much too long for it), and zipped away as fast as the cart could carry him with a proud grin on his face.
Distantly, he remembered picking up prepackaged sushi, a bottle of wine, and mini cinnamon buns. He grabbed everything that looked good and remembered feeling thirsty and hungry but the feeling passing away quickly. He was more concerned about the whispers of other shoppers around him, the weed making his paranoia rise.
The next few minutes (seconds, hours?) happened in slow motion. He heard someone's bored voice speak over the store speakers--"Clean up on aisle..." And when he looked around for the source he spotted the half-empty wine bottle in his hand and a rotisserie chicken in his lap.
There was also opened packages of sushi and cinnamon buns in his basket and a trail of packaging leading down the aisle he was in straight to his cart. Following the trail back down the aisle he spotted a familiar face, though it took him a second to place it.
"Puck?" he finally slurred. The heavy weight of the chicken in his lap felt heavier when he saw the bright blue Walmart vest Puck was wearing. He added, waving to his basket, "Imma pay for all this."
puck! remember, you asked for this!!
faces come out of the rain
Puck was always the one they sent to deal with disasters when he was on shift. He was the only one that seemed comfortable enough dealing with someone who was out of control, or causing a scene. And he knew how to diffuse a situation long before it ever got close to blowing up in their faces. Puck just had that way about him. An easiness that people responded well to, even when they were freaking out. So he wasn’t surprised when, yet again, his manager asked him to go deal with a situation in aisle seven. Apparently someone had made a real mess of themselves.
The surprise came only when he had made it to the mess itself. And it wasn’t the strewn about packages of open food, or the half-empty bottle of wine that caused Puck to raise an eyebrow. No, that sort of bullshit was normal in their shitty south side Walmart. The surprising part was who had cause the mess in the first place. Laying there with a rotisserie chicken in his lap and wine bottle in hand, was Judas, a regular guest of the Trash House. ”Oh, I’m sure you are.” he responded easily, kneeling down next to his friend? Acquaintance? He wasn’t sure what they were to each other. But in that moment, Puck was the one person that would be able to keep his manager from calling the cops on this idiot.
”What’cha doin’ down here, Judas?” It was clear what he was doing, honestly. But Puck found making conversation was easier than making accusations. People responded better to it. Especially when they were high as a fucking kite. He picked up the rotisserie chicken and set it aside, amongst the other trash strewn about around them. ”You take some good shit?”
He was really, really glad that Puck was wearing a name badge and that Judas wasn't relying on his own body to keep him upright and stable right now. Otherwise he might have forgotten the guy's name. He didn't really know Puck, except in passing. And although the sight of a slightly out of focus Puck was familiar to Judas, it wasn't familiar for him to be this trashed without Puck being at least somewhat on the same level.
If Judas had the ability to be ashamed or embarrassed now would be the time, but instead he found it pretty fucking hilarious.
A sound escaped his lips that sounded suspiciously like a giggle but he tramped down hard on the feeling, biting his lips to keep the sound from growing.
"Sorry," he said, muffled, as he attempted to talk while still biting his lips. He pointed to the things in the motorized basket he was still straddling and stopped biting his lips to explain.
"I uh, yeah, may be high," he said as if that wasn't obvious, "got hungry, so you know. Ate." After a pause, he added, "I didn't know you worked, man." It was a testament to the type of people he knew that he didn't say 'worked here', the fact that Puck worked at all seemingly amazing to the older male.
"I was drinking too," he blurted, suddenly wanting to explain why he was so wrecked. Not wanting to seem like a lightweight in front of the blonde. A desire to keep his reputation being more important than feeling responsible for the mess he made for a supposed friend.
@puck e. rogers i'm so sorry for the lateness of this post, my posts will be way more frequent from now on
faces come out of the rain
Puck raised an eyebrow at the giggle that escaped the other man, but otherwise said nothing. ”Happens more often than you’d think.” he said simply, picking up a wrapper off the floor next to him. There was something about a Walmart (especially one on the southside) that attracted all sorts of weirdos and hijinks. Puck couldn’t help but think this wasn’t the case in any other grocery store in town. It was like entering another world. One with low prices on potato chips and grown men having lightsaber battles in the cereal aisle.
”Gotta make rent somehow.” Though it was becoming abundantly clear, the more he had to deal with messes like this, that he needed to find a new source of income. Walmart wasn’t where he wanted to be five years from now. It wasn’t even where he wanted to be now. The job had only been temporary in the beginning. He was only going stay as long as it took for him to figure out where to go next. And then he’d moved into the trash house. Now it had been two years, the longest he’d bothered to stay put in one place since he started this whole thing to begin with. And it was starting to look like he might actually stay put for good this time. Or at least for the foreseeable future. If he was going to do that, he was going to need something more tolerable than fucking Walmart to keep him going.
”I can see that.” Puck gestured vaguely at the wine bottle. Seeing Judas in this state was nothing new. They had met at a number of trash house get togethers and done a number of drugs together in the process. But usually Puck was on the same level as him. Not responsible for any of the messes made until they all sobered up together and could laugh about it later. That wasn’t the case this time. ”C’mon. I gotta get this cleaned up. Do you need a ride home or something, man?” He didn’t exactly trust that Judas would be okay if he just let him walk out the doors like this.