champagne supernova in the sky

[Jefferson Soul]

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She accused him of something that hardly reached his ears at first. After a great, wobbly glug of the tart poison in his grasp, he swallowed gratefully, wiped at the dribble at his chin with the wrist still grasping the bottle, and looked at her stupidly. She didn't introduce herself; how strange. Instead, she pointed fingers and accusations. In his normal, level-headed existence, he might have brushed it off as a stranger's ignorance, or he might have defended his honor with a snarl and a snap. Instead, he smirked and pointed a finger at her.

"And you are beautiful," he hiccuped, frame swaying this way in that in its drunken and unstable discomfort. That said, the bottle of swill was again put to his lips and gargled, but thereafter, was placed on the bed's surface while he breathed and tried to sort the spinning thoughts in his head--to no avail, no doubt. "What de fuck is goin' on...?" Jefferson gurgled, looking around as if he'd suddenly realized he had no idea where he was. Of course, his mind was only falling deeper and deeper into its hole with the added alcohol content in his blood and the slow progress of time. Apparently, the question was posed more because his experience with drunkenness was lacking, and the concept of such head spinning and freedom was unnerving to a male whose walls were impenetrable and whose head only spun in the worst of battles, none of which he had conflicted in many months.

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