ArchivedLogs:Vignette - Friday Night Moping

Vignette - Friday Night Moping
Dramatis Personae Jennifer
In Absentia	2013-04-19 Jennifer mopes after her screw up in the Danger Room.
Location <XS> Teachers' Lounge
Doubt has no place here. It is infectious. Those are Jennifer’s words. Those are the words she told Jackson. Now, however, Jennifer Walters was a little bit more sceptical of this dogma of hers. At least, if 'little bit' meant 'a lot'. How could she not doubt her actions, considering the havoc they have wrought? Worst of all, she does not fully disagree with her decisions. Shouldn't she condemn her actions entirely? That seems like the sensible thing to do, but perhaps Jennifer is not capable of such feats. That is what she keeps telling herself. The lounge is empty, seeing as every other teacher has more exciting plans for a Friday evening. Jennifer, on the other hand, is sprawled sideways on the couch, which she had effortlessly moved in front of the TV. Two emptied buckets of ice-cream are the foot of said furniture, while a third is hugged against the woman's midriff. The remote to the TV is in one hand, while another clutches the bottleneck of scotch. She's still wearing what she wore to the Danger Room. "The assault on the city was horrifying. Men that have never even met before were commanded by their superiors to charge into impossible situations, expected to know--" Gee, thanks, History channel. The recalling of the battle of Stalingrad is dismissed with an angry press of a button. A swig of scotch is hastily taken. The channel the TV is now set to shows plains of snow and polar bears trudging along it. It looks like the father bear is seemingly playing with its kids. The spoon digs into the vanilla and caramel ice-cream. A hefty bunch of it is shoved past Jennifer's sneer. The positive images on the screen instil certain thoughts. "They almost cooperated", she thinks to herself, spoon still clamped down on with her lips. "Ivan shoved a whole bed past the door. Shelby blinded a guard. I know she would have gone back for Ivan. I know it." The bear pounces the young. Teeth sink into their flash, tearing them open. The narrator finally speaks, "It is not precisely known why the male polar bears eat their young--" The spoon is tossed into the ice cream bucket with an unsatisfied grunt. Another mouthful of scotch is imbibed. "Fuck", she mutters hoarsely, angling the bottle away from herself. The hand holding the remote rises up and switches the channel again. "I've made Shelby cry. Ivan's not going to show any damage I did to him, so there's no idea /how/ the room affected him." The thought visibly disgusts her. The next channel is sports-oriented. Soccer is on. Jennifer inhales deeply, closing her eyes. The remote is tossed to the ground, while the scotch bottle is lowered more carefully. After she lifts the bucket, the redhead shifts on the couch to lie down on her back, instead. Exhaling a sigh, she places the carton bucket on her stomach. Two commentators enthusiastically retell the events on the field. "I tell you, Tommy, this guy is on a roll today! He really knows the value of teamwork! He knows /exactly/ when his friends are open and ready to wreck the opposition!" Groan. "God, I suck." That is no thought - it is spoken aloud. The spoon is fished out of the absurdly large bucket, but not before she catches more ice-cream with it. Stuffing her face full with more ice-cream, she ponders to herself, "I did nothing to talk to her. I just assumed she's this public enemy number one. I sprayed her with a water pistol in the face. What kind of teacher does that?" The spoon is pulled out, after which Jennifer begins to wag it around demonstratively. "I'll tell you what kind, Walters", she exclaims all by herself. "A /bad/ one." Of all subjects, she happens to be teaching ethics. The fact her mistake was a breach of exactly that frustrates her. "Social and Power Responsibility", Jen murmurs to herself. "Maybe you should teach yourself how to act human before you start teaching them how to be mutants." The television screen is eyed with half-drunken boredom. "What a stupid sport", she decides aloud before reaching for the remote. Channels are browsed through more quickly, this time. It takes some time, but eventually she finds wrestling. Better. Turning to lie on her side again, Jennifer stares intently at burly grown-up men bashing each other chairs, pouncing atop one another and flaunting ridiculous aliases. Ah, violence. The pinnacle of entertainment. With that, alcohol and ice-cream, Walters was set for the rest of the evening. It may be not be a terribly inspiring image, but it's about as therapeutic as it gets for Jennifer, short of a bike ride or punching things as She-Hulk. Bike ride? Oh, right! The race with Scott! There is no way she is going to be able to do that tomorrow. Jennifer straightens out. A soreness courses through her neck. Ow. Squinting in pain, she looks over to the clock. God, she's been glued to the screen for three hours, now. Getting off the couch, she wanders over to the bar, where she left her phone. A message is input as quickly as Jennifer is allowed by her lack of aptitude with technology. "Hey, Scott", she voices what she types, pausing between each word, "I'm no good for tomorrow. Shelby and Ivan session was a disaster, I have a date with ice cream. Is Sunday evening good?" Send. The phone is left on the bar, and then Jen wanders back to the couch, tossing herself atop it. "Okay! Fuck this. If I'm going to do anything right today, it's going to be moping!" Wriggling on the couch to maximise her comfort, Jennifer snags the scotch bottle of the ground again. Her vacant hand is clutched into a fist, shaken at the screen. "Come on!" It's a good thing no one else is around to hear her shout. "Punch his lights out!" If anything was going to distract her - and a distraction is something she is in dire need of - it's going to be ineffectually yelling at the television screen. With ice-cream and scotch.