You and I have remarkably different definitions of what fun is if you believe that. [ Still light, as she ventures a glance back at him over her shoulder and bears witness to his mock-affronted expression, one she can almost see clearly now that she has a greater understanding of the way these features change — with remarkable similarity to his more human visage, all things considered.

She purposefully doesn’t venture anywhere near the shelved items, especially not what looks to be a portrait purposefully redirected away from view given how the others are positioned. It does prove to be something she notes to herself, mostly, before opening the drawer and reaching inside to pull out the vodka, grabbing it around the neck with one hand as the other unscrews the cap and allows it to fall to the floor, rolling off to some distant corner. ]

Not a problem. [ She brings it to her lips for a direct swig, wincing slightly; she doesn’t drink severely or often enough to be dulled to that first sip, but the second one goes down easier, and she gestures to him with her index finger lifted away from the bottle. ]

There. Now we’ll be even once… wait, how shitfaced are you right now?