“Sweetie, sweetie? You innair?” His face was practically touching hers, the heady aroma of whiskey washing over her face to mix with the barley scent of ales, beers, and lagers. She offered a smile of recognition to which he responded with his usual lopsided grin of inebriation.

Verse ran over and over in her mind distracting from what he was saying. The accompanying gestures seemed to indicate egress from the current establishment along with some unspecified number and group of people. What was left of her rational mind knew it would matter. Her alcohol fueled party brain didn’t care. Some unhappy part of her subconscious nagged in flowing meter all the while.

“Sweetie, sweetie?” he was slurring now, “You innerwot? You innerwot, huh?”

Her response to him a stare she raised an elegant finger towards the bartender, a lone raised digit. He nodded, understanding that the lady with the wild hair and sad eyes would have one more beer.

One more beer, whether to absolution or damnation she didn’t care.