Aberdeen "Abbie" Angus

boy toy.
Abbie started drinking early today. Every once in a while, usually when she's had a bad day, she'll start at around 3, sometimes even 2:15. She has her own bar in her room, a glass case filled with different handles of different liquor. She hardly drinks beer, it's not good for her figure. And she hardly drinks wine either, she's not that classy. She has a shaker, a bowl of slightly moldy limes, a salt shaker and different sizes of glass cups, some of them nice. She gathered them from the shop most likely. She always takes the good stuff for herself. Other glasses were jelly jars that her grandma used. She never used them, but they're there.

"What do you think, kids?"

She turned to look at her ferrets, Adelaide and Mojo. Her only companions were sleeping in their rusting cage, curled into furry circles. She'd woken an hour earlier to the sound of heavy rain and still hadn't made it downstairs to the store. It was 2 in the afternoon.

"Mimosa or Mojito, my little darlings?"

She figured since it was sort of morning she'd go with the Mimosa. At least it had orange juice in it. She took the old champagne out of her glass cabinet. She took the half full jug of orange juice and poured them into a glass cup. She sniffed, sipped, and felt a little bit better about her day. She hesitantly dressed, slipped up her ripped tights, and placed her vintage heels on. Slowly, glass in hand, she made it downstairs to the store.
It was cluttered, as usual. Items stuffed in nicks and crannies, some things that Abbie had never seen before. She continued to sip. She made her way behind the counter and sat on her tattered revolving stool. She propped her feet on the desk, not taking care if her dress let a little something show.
She continued to sip. Luckily, if she ran out, she had another mini fridge under the desk. She drank fast, and refilled. She figured there was nothing better to do in the day.
She looked around. She had conjoining windows with Styx Meats. It served as a distraction.
Abbie has a list of men in her life. Can she remember all the names? No. But does that really matter? No. But ever since she moved here she's always had her eye on Dave. Yes, Dave Gorlomi. The butcher. Whether it's because he was the only man she really ever saw or because she was genuinely attracted to him, it is unknown. He's not the most glamorous of all men but she's not worried about the quality of men anymore, just how many she can squeeze into one night. She especially likes Dave because she can always smell the booze on him when she walks into Styx Meats. It's like a "coming home" type of feeling. She likes to think that she could have him wrapped around her little finger. Like a boy toy. She hasn't had one in ages. She's seen the way he looks at her when she "happens" to carry her martini into Styx with her. She knows he can't resist the juice. So she has a plan. She plans to lure him in with her collection of Jack, Jim and José. And if he resists, well then she'll bring in the girls. Her loyal girls, the high class girls. And if that doesn't work, then she'll have to roll up her own stockings (which she has no problem doing what-so-ever. Actually she would probably prefer to do it that way.) But until then, she watches him through the window peeking from Abbott's Dream Antiques in Styx Meats. She takes note of his peak times to take a swig. She knows that when he gets especially sweaty in the afternoons, with dried blood all over his hands and the lack of customers coming in, it's his prime time for a drink. And then it's time for a slow waltz into Styx with her own mix of rum and coke.