[ She should feel bad about hastily scribbling Sarissa's entire name down in her comedy notebook. She absolutely doesn't, because this is perfect ammunition, even if she can barely pronounce it. Preliminaries, first: is this a fun drunk or a sad drunk? ]
Mrs. Maisel, got it in one. Great stage name, don't you think?
Okay... [ It's said very slowly as she tries to figure out if she can wipe her face off and get ready before potentially rescuing Sarissa from the cold. She's actually getting up now, though, still in her nightgown, grabbing the warmest coat she can and her lantern. ]
How about you come over? I could use a little girl talk.
[ It's always better if you frame concern under the guise of being friendly. ]
Nah. You're all classy and shit. I'm— ( The pause is definitely verging on a drunken slur, as she tries to string together a sentence. ) I'ma rough-as-guts rural. Not your best bet for girl talk, eh?
( She still sounds cheery, but as she's lying down on the ground, Sarissa's just staring up into the sky, and her expression becomes etched with unhappiness. She's not the best bet for most things. Wasn't even doing so good at being dead.
Still, she injects cheeriness into her voice as she goes on. )
Are you a girl? Can you talk? Great. [ That's that, sarissa, that's settled. Midge is slipping her coat on and grabbing her lantern and heading out. ]
Mr. Maisel is currently taking care of our kids, I guess. He'll make a great single dad, it's not he doesn't have practice with it--we're in the middle of a divorce.
What's the nearest landmark? And don't say a tree or I will bury you under one.
( Sarissa chuckles quietly at that, though it dies out with the talk of divorce. )
Shit. I'm sorry. ( She asked what he was like, and Midge used the "great" in there as an adjective which paints him in a better light than just mentioning the divorce would. Wasn't Midge from the fifties? Wasn't it a big fucking deal? It throws her off enough that she doesn't immediately press, and she doesn't swing into unhelpfulness, either.
Instead she gives a pretty reasonably description of where she is - and wherever it is isn't too far from Miriam's place, as it turns out. )
Why did you use that as your stage name if you're getting a divorce? Or was comedy from before the divorce started?
It's okay. It was a year ago. Roughly. [ Miriam is far more annoyed that she's up and out and about with her mud mask still on, complete with curlers she'd managed to find, wrapped in a dainty little headscarf. Her nightgown isn't meant for the weather, even with her winter jacket over it.
Sarissa is absolutely going to owe her one. She finds her quick enough, lantern in hand, and she looks down. ]
( Hazily, Sarissa pulls herself up to sit, maybe a quarter of a bottle of whiskey left, that she uses as a crutch to push herself up. She’s wearing jeans, a tank, and is barefoot. Her brow furrows as she looks at Miriam, blinking a couple times. )
You shouldn’t have come out like that. You’ll— it’s too cold.
( Pot, kettle, etc. Sarissa’s mood seems more serious, with Miriam’s arrival, though to say it had sobered would be entirely too ironic. )
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Mrs. Maisel, got it in one. Great stage name, don't you think?
Are you okay right now? Where are you?
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( Sarissa laughs quietly. ) Yeah, I'm heaps good. Perfection.
( A moment of pause. ) Uh, for the second part, I dunno. A path. It's comfortable as.
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How about you come over? I could use a little girl talk.
[ It's always better if you frame concern under the guise of being friendly. ]
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( She still sounds cheery, but as she's lying down on the ground, Sarissa's just staring up into the sky, and her expression becomes etched with unhappiness. She's not the best bet for most things. Wasn't even doing so good at being dead.
Still, she injects cheeriness into her voice as she goes on. )
What's Mr. Maisel like?
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Mr. Maisel is currently taking care of our kids, I guess. He'll make a great single dad, it's not he doesn't have practice with it--we're in the middle of a divorce.
What's the nearest landmark? And don't say a tree or I will bury you under one.
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Shit. I'm sorry. ( She asked what he was like, and Midge used the "great" in there as an adjective which paints him in a better light than just mentioning the divorce would. Wasn't Midge from the fifties? Wasn't it a big fucking deal? It throws her off enough that she doesn't immediately press, and she doesn't swing into unhelpfulness, either.
Instead she gives a pretty reasonably description of where she is - and wherever it is isn't too far from Miriam's place, as it turns out. )
Why did you use that as your stage name if you're getting a divorce? Or was comedy from before the divorce started?
audio > action
Sarissa is absolutely going to owe her one. She finds her quick enough, lantern in hand, and she looks down. ]
Get up, please, before we both freeze to death.
action > should I set up a log, bruh?
You shouldn’t have come out like that. You’ll— it’s too cold.
( Pot, kettle, etc. Sarissa’s mood seems more serious, with Miriam’s arrival, though to say it had sobered would be entirely too ironic. )