I Lost Control After She Did!
OOC: For those unaware of Bree's story, she's adopted and is a pre-immie, with no exposure at all to immortals or anything like that. Imagine what would happen if you spliced "Clueless" into "Highlander". Okay...scared now? Good. Now is the start of her immortal discovery.
So Mom and Dad called and I have to go pick up Aunt Opal at the nursing home and bring her to the house. Excuse me? This is my freaking Sunday off, thank you. The old thing's been kicked out of like her fourth home, now, for slutting around with the old coot guys. Ewwww. Old people sex. I swear, when I finally do start having sex, I'm going to have some dignity and stop trying to get some after I'm ancient and decrepit. Cut off? Definitely no naked games after forty. It's disgusting.
So I drive my happy ass all the way up to Jersey City, and the people at the nursing home have her packed and sitting on the curb in her wheelchair. I put all her shit in the car, including her entire silver teaspoon set from around the world. The one from Branson, she has to hold in her lap cuz she doesn't trust my speeding around in my fancy sports car, she says. Hello?! I drive a freaking Honda Civic! I don't even have a CD player, I have to listen to the radio or my mother's old Rick Astley cassette tape. Like...duh.
I get out on the road and she's yammering about Harry, her third husband, who died in some stupid war that like, NO ONE is old enough to remember. I mean, did they have airplane pilots in the Civil War? I don't think so. So she goes on and on and on. I finally turn on Rick Astley, because, like lame music is better than this. Finally, the old hag drops off, and I can have some peace. Then...I smell it.
Oh, GOD! She totally pooed in her diaper! Oh, GOD! It's so disgusting. I can't drive another hour with that putrid smell in my car! So I'm like trying to get over, and this ass monkey in some fucking tricked out Dodge Dart won't let me in! My eyes are totally watering and Rick is singing about how he's never gonna give me up and never gonna let me down and I can't even breathe! I called Dartboy a happy horsefucker out the window as I flipped him off and then I cut over. The asshole rams me! What a dick! Well, that woke up Aunt Opal and she starts screeching like a banshee with her tail on fire, and tries to grab the steering wheel. I remember the car clipping the side rail and then we flipped. Up we go, over the rail and into the drive through line at Burger King, and we crash into the sign and roll like ten times.
So like, I totally pass out from the smell and the blood, like...totally. Wouldn't you? And I wake up in this room, NAKED. There's this tag on my toe and a sheet over my face. Hello? And if you think I was shocked, you should have seen the guy when I sat up and asked what the hell was going on? Where are my clothes? I will fuck someone's shit up if anything happened to my new shoes. And they better not have lost that Branson commemorative silver spoon or Aunt Opal will put the hurt on some people.
One tiny loss of control, and you wind up naked on a cold table with a tag on your toe. But look! My hair still looks good. And they say you can't get a decent style at Supercuts. Hah!
Bree Corderos
OC / Misc. Fandoms
So Mom and Dad called and I have to go pick up Aunt Opal at the nursing home and bring her to the house. Excuse me? This is my freaking Sunday off, thank you. The old thing's been kicked out of like her fourth home, now, for slutting around with the old coot guys. Ewwww. Old people sex. I swear, when I finally do start having sex, I'm going to have some dignity and stop trying to get some after I'm ancient and decrepit. Cut off? Definitely no naked games after forty. It's disgusting.
So I drive my happy ass all the way up to Jersey City, and the people at the nursing home have her packed and sitting on the curb in her wheelchair. I put all her shit in the car, including her entire silver teaspoon set from around the world. The one from Branson, she has to hold in her lap cuz she doesn't trust my speeding around in my fancy sports car, she says. Hello?! I drive a freaking Honda Civic! I don't even have a CD player, I have to listen to the radio or my mother's old Rick Astley cassette tape. Like...duh.
I get out on the road and she's yammering about Harry, her third husband, who died in some stupid war that like, NO ONE is old enough to remember. I mean, did they have airplane pilots in the Civil War? I don't think so. So she goes on and on and on. I finally turn on Rick Astley, because, like lame music is better than this. Finally, the old hag drops off, and I can have some peace. Then...I smell it.
Oh, GOD! She totally pooed in her diaper! Oh, GOD! It's so disgusting. I can't drive another hour with that putrid smell in my car! So I'm like trying to get over, and this ass monkey in some fucking tricked out Dodge Dart won't let me in! My eyes are totally watering and Rick is singing about how he's never gonna give me up and never gonna let me down and I can't even breathe! I called Dartboy a happy horsefucker out the window as I flipped him off and then I cut over. The asshole rams me! What a dick! Well, that woke up Aunt Opal and she starts screeching like a banshee with her tail on fire, and tries to grab the steering wheel. I remember the car clipping the side rail and then we flipped. Up we go, over the rail and into the drive through line at Burger King, and we crash into the sign and roll like ten times.
So like, I totally pass out from the smell and the blood, like...totally. Wouldn't you? And I wake up in this room, NAKED. There's this tag on my toe and a sheet over my face. Hello? And if you think I was shocked, you should have seen the guy when I sat up and asked what the hell was going on? Where are my clothes? I will fuck someone's shit up if anything happened to my new shoes. And they better not have lost that Branson commemorative silver spoon or Aunt Opal will put the hurt on some people.
One tiny loss of control, and you wind up naked on a cold table with a tag on your toe. But look! My hair still looks good. And they say you can't get a decent style at Supercuts. Hah!
Bree Corderos
OC / Misc. Fandoms