Chapter Text
1. Pilot episode with a pink feather boa
It was... ass o'clock, evidently, judging by the blood-orange colour just beginning to gild the edges of the horizon under the heavy canopy of yesterday's rain clouds. Jean didn't want to be awake at this hour. The room was cold, the light streaming through the grimy windows too bright, all sensations too sharp in contrast to the fuzzy weight of the near-hangover slushing inside her head. And yesterday… what had she done yesterday? Oh, yeah. Right.
Her so-called friends from work had dragged her to this house-warming party she didn't want to attend, and she wasn't a party person at the best of times – which yesterday had definitely not been.
“Why... fucking- gah.” She mumbled nonsensically, disentangling herself from the bedding and stumbling out of the bedroom. There was orange juice in the fridge, which was a good thing, because she didn't want to throw up a second time in the same 24-hour period (not that the first time had been intended). She chugged the whole thing in one go, and chucked the empty bottle towards the bin, barely missing. “Damn it all.”
She was just one hyena. All she wanted from life was to have a good time, and play some sweet jazz, and hopefully not devour anybody by accident. She didn't need all this drama and nonsense, and she certainly wasn't the one to run to when you needed someone to play mediator between two scorned girlfriends. She should've just hung out with the band instead, like she usually did, but… social obligations and all that. She cursed mentally. Whoever decided those things were important could kiss her ass.
The phone buzzed, only once. A message from Lawrence.
So, how was yesterday? I know interacting with your co-workers normally makes you want to strangle somebody. You can vent at me if you want to
And then another one, quickly after the first.
Hope I'm not waking you up, btw
She smiled a little, though it probably came out looking more like a cringe because her head was still throbbing. The wolf always worried too much. After half a dozen or so swing-and-misses, she settled on sending a single shrugging emoji.
He sent her a thumbs-up in reply, earning another smile. After the previous day's stupidity, she missed talking to her actual friends. Good thing today was an off-day.
Breakfast was prepared, angrily. The clouds in the sky slowly melted away, and pink and orange gave way to a pastel blue so bright it was frankly fake-looking. Jean's headache abated, for the most part, though it still made its presence known whenever she moved too fast or stood up too abruptly, just in case she forgot about it – not that it could stop her from going out and enjoying the sunlight.