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The muted sound of dice rolling against leather, followed by graphite scratching against paper, fills the office. Incomprehensible mutterings accompany it, rambling about ‘stats’ and ‘points’.
The source of the noise is none other than Chance, sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the office desk, papers strewn in a loose semicircle around him. The pages are filled with writing, ranging from GnG character statistics to storylines for different oneshots.
Chance tosses a six-sided die, checking the number once it stops completely. “Alright, now with a plus three modifier for intelligence in accordance with the mage class…” He sticks his tongue out slightly, furiously scribbling down the new statistic on the graph paper in his lap.
The tranquility doesn’t last very long.
Office Dorian swings open, and in stumbles you.
Chance is startled by the sudden change in atmosphere, jumping slightly. He wasn’t entirely sure you would even visit tonight, completely unprepared for your unexpected arrival. Nevertheless, he quickly stands up — papers fluttering away — dusts himself, and gives you a warm smile. “Ho there, my strong warrior! What brings—”
“Chaaaance!” You drag his name out, not letting him finish his greeting. You excitedly throw your arms in the air, and nearly throw yourself off balance. “Whoops!”
Immediately, Chance knows something is wrong with you. It doesn’t take a genius to gather that you are currently under the influence. Of what, he isn’t sure yet. But he has a fairly good idea what it might be. Carefully, he asks, “Are you… drunk?”
For some reason, this makes you giggle. “Nooo, Dunk is still upstairs, silly!”
Yeah. You were so drunk.
Chance sighs. “Oh crit, how much have you had?” He makes his way around Dasha towards you.
“Just one wine!” There’s a rather pregnant pause as you fall silent. Then, in a shameful mumble, you add, “…bottle.”
Chance can’t help it. His eyebrows shoot up and his jaw drops in shock. A whole bottle?! How were you even standing?!
Before he can voice his concerns, you stumble forward, and Chance barely catches you before you can tumble to the ground. “Woah!”
You collapse into his arms rather unceremoniously, not bothering to try and hold yourself up. You have put your faith entirely in Chance’s raw strength — and while it’s nowhere near as impressive as Dasha’s, he’s able to keep you somewhat upright without much struggle.
Chance, on the other hand, flushes a deep red. He hasn’t been this close to you… at all, actually. It disheartens him a bit that it took you getting drunk to finally embrace him. Somewhat.
You take no notice, simply burying your face deep into his chest, inhaling deeply. “Mmmmhhh. You smell real nice.” After another deep breath, you add, “Like, like— cherry, ‘n mahogany.”
Clearing his throat, Chance stutters out a response. “Does— euhm, does mahogany ha-have a scent?”
“Yeah!” You nod emphatically. “And it’s you.”
Chance isn’t able to dodge the finger that taps him on the nose (well, tries to tap his nose, you almost miss and nearly poke him in the eye). If possible, he becomes even more flustered. “Well, that’s— uhm, eheh.” He trails off, not knowing exactly what to say.
You continue to poke at Chance, this time going for his chin and his lips. “You are soooo cute. Didja know that? If— if I had to measure your… cuteness, it’d be like— waaaaay too much. The world? It would explode.”
“I— uh, you, uhmm…” Holy crit. Any more of this, and Chance was sure he would simply melt from the top down.
Suddenly, you get a contemplative look, and grab Chance by the cheeks, forcing him to look down at you. You stare him directly in his eyes with a deadly serious expression. “I need to tell you something.”
Uh oh. The drunken confession. “I’m not sure that’s a very good idea—”
“Ah shshshshhh.” You hush him, and continue as if you were never interrupted in the first place. “I. Want you. On top of me.”
Chance is pretty sure his face is going to explode. That is, if it hasn’t already done so. “I’m— uh, not entirely— you’re not in your right mind, we can’t—”
You sloppily shake your head. “No no no no no, not like, sexy stuff. Like, you, on top of me, like— like a blanket.”
Chance is, for the first time that night, relieved when he hears this bit of information. This was something he could reasonably do. “Oh! Well, that can be easily arranged! Just… not right now, okay?”
“But why not?” You whine, pouting, and begin slipping out of Chance’s grasp towards the floor.
Noticing this, Chance gently lowers you to the ground, sitting you up against Dasha so you aren't lying down. “Because you’re drunk. On wine. I’m pretty sure if I tried— uhm…” He can feel his face heating up as he attempts to spit out the next part of his sentence, “tried to lay, on you, that wouldn’t be really good for you.”
You open your mouth, no doubt more drunken arguments ready to spill from your lips, but instead what comes out is a gag. It’s quickly followed by another, and another. Reacting quickly, Chance reaches over and grabs the nearby trash can, shoving it in front of your face just in time to catch your vomit. Desperately, you grab at the small bucket and hunch over it as you proceed to empty your guts.
Chance simply rubs your back and pushes a few strands of hair away from your face. “It’s alright, just let it all out.”
You do so, and it’s painful for him to watch. It hurts him because it is so obviously hurting you. He makes a mental note to berate Beverly or Eddie or Volt or whoever managed to let you get this drunk.
Soon enough, you manage to stop, now just coughing and dry heaving. “Nghh… sorry, Cam.” Your voice shakes as you apologize to your trash can.
Cam — who is standing off to the side — at least has the decency to simply shrug. “S’alright. Better me than Florence.”
Chance sighs, and offers you a hand. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”