OOC: Not much to be said here, aside from maybe that being like Ray and deciding to spontaneously sleep with someone while intoxicated often leads to mornings spent regretting life choices! Comments and critique welcome. 
Ray meandered down the cobblestone road leading into the eerily silent village square, adjusting the tightness of the belt looped around her waist. Despite the darkness that had descended over the settlement she could still see flickering street lamps off in the distance, their brightness gradually fading as their oil supplies began to deplete. The trees swayed to and fro with the gentle breeze and Ray shivered at the chill. She felt around her neck at the blemishes Blacky had left and cursed, tugging her scarf up.
She could see her house as she descended into the centre, a small cottage among many neatly lined up in a row next to the Comb and Wattle. There was no light emitting from the windows. Ray breathed a sigh of relief and climbed the steps – This meant her brother Jamie and his fiancée Helen were at least asleep. Her father was the true wildcard, being a drunkard, which meant there was just as good a chance of her opening up the door to an enraged, foaming-at-the-mouth father as there was of finding a peacefully slumbering one. Ray hoped for the latter.
The door swung open and the woman stepped inside. The first thing to hit her senses was the permeating smell of alcohol in the air, followed by the cool air breezing in behind her, caressing what little bits of skin she was showing as it drove the foul stench out. Her eyes trailed over to the kitchen and the hearth – the fire had long since been snuffed out, the counter devoid of any dirt, the dishes washed in the bucket, and the leftovers stowed away. The only thing to remain in a state of chaos was the dining table and the surrounding floor, littered with numerous empty bottles of rum that only her dear father could have drunk in such an alarmingly short time. Ray glanced at the sleeping figure nestled into the chair behind the table.
Her father seemed so much more at peace when he wasn’t frothing at the mouth from alcohol-induced rage, resting with his hands folded atop his breast, the creases and lines in his face softened. His scraggly grey hair and the stained cloak draped over him was the only thing that hinted at the turbulent life of excess that he lived.
“Ray?” Came the voice unexpectedly, and Ray realized that her entrance and the subsequent cold wind coming in must have woken him up. He began to stir and rubbed at his face, looking up at her with tired eyes, “Wha’… wha’ time is it?”
“Midnigh’, Papa.” Ray said tenderly. She thanked her lucky stars – the gentle side of her father had decided to show itself tonight, “Were out at the Twigs’ wedding feast an’ had a tad too much to drink. Wound up leaving with a tall travellin’ lad.”
He smiled in amusement upon hearing of the departure with Blacky, “Another fling o’ yours? Don’t—“ – He yawned – “—Don’ let Gran find out, she’ll smack the shite out of you, lass. You know how stubborn tha’ old coot is.”
Ray managed a flicker of a small smile and walked over to the table to pick up the fallen bottles, “Don’ worry Papa, she won’ hear a word of it.”
Clenching the bottlenecks between her fingers, Ray rose and turned to look at her father. In the time between their exchange and her cleaning he had fallen asleep again, head lulling onto his collarbone with a peaceful look as he snored contentedly in his seat. Ray stood there, affixed to the spot with a peculiar sting in her heart as she looked at him. This could have been – should have been – her father if her mother, Holly, hadn’t died giving birth to her.
She wiped away the wetness welling in her eyes and quietly walked into her bedroom to retrieve a proper blanket and throw it over the sleeping form of her father.
I can’ stay here forever though. Ray thought dourly when the deed was said and done, returning to her large, hollow bedroom. Despite her father’s presence, Jamie and Helen had claimed the master bedroom ever since he had stubbornly insisted upon using wasting away at the dining table instead of sleeping off the intoxication tucked into a nice, warm quilt – whether it was out of sheer laziness or the refusal to relive certain memories, Ray did not know, but what she did know was that the walls were thin enough for her to occasionally hear muffled conversation coming from the other room. Sometimes the voices would grow loud enough for her to hear sporadic phrases and arguments, but the worst nights were those in which muffled grunts and moaning rendered her sleepless and tossing about in bed wishing for death.
Taking off her belt and doublet, Ray slipped into a loose, comfortable grey tunic, rolling her shoulders and running a hand through her short hair. Thankfully, tonight was a quiet night, which meant that her brother and his fiancée were most assuredly asleep in bed. She kicked off her boots and slumped onto the mattress with a tired sigh, doing her best to ignore the growing pounding in her skull that meant a hangover was well on its way come morning.
The bed was warm and comfortable as she bundled up into her quilt, staring up at the ceiling restlessly. Where would they be now, if Holly was still alive? Jamie and Helen would surely have long moved out of the house by now, and her father definitely would not be wasting his life away stuck sitting on a wooden dining chair. The Ray who still had a mother would likely not be the same Ray currently lying in bed unable to sleep. The thought made Ray shiver and she turned on her side, closing her eyes.
That night, she dreamt she was a young girl again.
