After she left, the sound of the door closing momentarily jarring him, Ethan mumbled softly under his breath. "Run away, Little Red Riding Hood. The wolf is already at grandma's house." He chuckled just as quietly, pleased with his metaphor, conceived within his drunken stupor. He knew what he was and had no illusions about it. He wasn't nearly as bad as some, but he believed himself to be a poison, and it was honestly better to be an ass and make people dislike him, or even hate him. Ethan wanted to be alone anyway, so it was no skin off his teeth. He spent the rest of his night passed out in his living room, the TV staying out well into the morning hours.<br/><br/>The next day was spent much in the same way; Ethan laid around in his apartment for the vast majority of the day. He barely got enough of himself together to get in the shower. Granted he spent more time than normal just letting the water fall over him while he dealt with the pounding headache and hangover that always greeted him after each binge. He hadn't eaten all day, and honestly didn't think about eating that day either. He did, at least, have the wherewithal to consume copious amounts of water to flush everything out. He threw on a t-shirt and a pair of loose-fitting jeans, put a ballcap on his head and grabbed his keys. As an afterthought, he grabbed the piece of paper sitting on his counter with Charlotte's name on it, though he wasn't sure what possessed him to do so. After the sun had set, Ethan got in his car and headed to his favorite dive, where he could continue to drink something other than cheap whiskey.<br/><br/>It wasn't a far drive, less than ten miles, to the spot, a seedy establishment lovingly named Cockeye's. It smelled as bad as it looked, and was populated by what could only be described as the worst that society had to offer. The inside was worse than the outside: loud, crowded, filled with cigarette smoke, sweat, and stale beer. The tables were old and grimy and in desperate need of a fresh coat of stain. Ethan didn't have any trouble fitting in there; the bartender knew him by face and by first name, and had the drink ready before his ass even his the bar stool. He wasted away several hours there, and after more beer than he looked like he could drink, and about a whole pack of cigarettes, Ethan was ready to go.<br/><br/>Not interested in endangering anyone else but himself, he did the responsible thing and placed his call to Charlotte. Despite his inebriation, he managed to keep himself together pretty well. He relayed his whereabouts to her (hopefully) clearly enough for her to make sense, though he did hint that if she couldn't understand him... "i'm sure you're enough of a smarty-pants to trace my call, since you're a robo-nerd anyway..."<br/><br/>Once the call was completed, Ethan went back inside and did the best thing he could think of, which was to keep drinking.