DRAFT

Artist, Writer, and Booze

Booze were everywhere.

The Artist threw a drinking party and she knew her flatmate would be kill her in her sleep because of it. With all the empty cans of beer and the food stains on the floor, she was sure that when her flatmate returns from where Lucifer's daughter (Editor) took her, she would end up dead.

"Hey buddy, your beer's getting warm," Jade called for the Artist's attention.

With Sabine on her lap and playing with her not-so spiky hair, the Artist had a hard time craning her neck to taker her lukewarm beer. It was hard enough to fight off the pawing hands of her French friend, focusing on the others was a challenge.

"Zo zilky and zhiny~!" Sabine giggled, pulling the Artist down to her chest and nuzzling her cheek on the soft tresses of the Artist. "Zmellz magnifique!" she slurred drunkenly.

The Artist pushed herself away from the Frenchwoman which was a bad idea for her yet the best for Sabine.

Hands on both soft mounds of Sabine, the Frenchwoman arched her back and moaned sensually. "Chérie~ Zo bold!"

Retracting her hands from the well-endowed chest of her French friend, the Artist tried to slide away from Sabine which in turn toppled both of them on the carpeted floor. The Frenchwoman merely giggled and latched herself back to her while she continue to pry the drunk away.

Marlon and the rest all shook their heads at how drunkenly infatuated Sabine is with their friend.

"Instead of shaking your heads, mind helping me?" the Artist pointed at the drunk Frenchwoman.

Voluntarily, Kyle untangled Sabine from their friend and placed her back on the sofa.

The Frenchwoman stretched her arms, smiled like a cat, and bid them all goodnight in French.

Within minutes, Sabine was out like a light.

"Finally!" The Artist heaved a heavy sigh and took one of the open beer cans from the table. "Seriously, she's a handful. A beauty but very clingy."

Patrick laughed loudly. "Handful? Yeah, you did get a handful there." He winked at the Artist knowingly.

The Artist laughed at Patrick's innuendo. "They were really soft. So, au naturel," she said, mimicking Sabine's French accent.

"Seriously amigo, señorita Sabine's all over you. Why not pass a move or two?" Marlon asked, wagging his eyebrows.

The Artist shook her head. "Dude, I don't take advantage of drunk women. Plus, she's a woman who can really take your breath away but—"

Before the Artist could continue, the door of the apartment slammed open, and several pairs of eyes turned to what or who opened the door.

A few grunts and giggles came from the doorway and two figures emerged from the other side of the door.

The Editor and the Writer.

The Editor was supporting the Writer to stand upright but obviously failing. She wobbled at every step she made and dropped the Writer a few times; picking her up every time she dropped the Writer. When she arrived at the living area, she saw several people who clearly was the Artist's visitors and the mess on the floor.

"You do know she would strangle you," the Editor said to the Artist.

The Artist shrugged, ignoring the Editor's words. Her sights went straight to her flatmate who was swaying like a rocking chair. "What happened to her?"

As if on cue, the Writer flailed her arms around and giggled girlishly. She swayed from side to side and tried to focus on her surroundings until her eyes met with her flatmate. "Oh haiiii corgi!" the Writer waved her free arm as if it was made of jello and smiled widely.

It was like the apocalypse was coming, so the Artist's friends thought. Seeing the Writer smiling happily, carelessly, without her usual grumpiness, was like a sign of the end of the world. They all watched silently and waited for how the Artist would react.

Surprised; it was the first time the Artist saw the Writer looked so carefree. No frowning or serious aura around her. She had to rub her eyes and even pinch herself just to make sure she was not seeing things. "She's smiling...?"

"She's drunk," the Editor pointed out the obvious. "And as you all can see, she's a smiling Buddha kind of drunk. So if anyone of you are done with gawking at her, will anyone help me to her room?"

Marlon was about to volunteer but the Artist stood up and approached the Editor before him.

Slinging the Writer's arm over her shoulders, the Artist gently pulled the Writer from the Editor and picked her up in a bridal-style manner. She could feel the Writer's breath on her neck and smell the liquor as well.

The said contact was enough for the Artist to freeze up.

"For a pipsqueak, you sure are strong," The Editor said, pointing at how the Artist carried the Writer with ease. She then looked at her wrist watched and sighed heavily realizing what time it was. "Shit, I need to go." She then glared at the small Artist whose hair the Writer was playing with. "She prefers black coffee, butter biscuits, and mushroom soup. Don't feed her anything with garlic in it or she'll throw-up," she informed the Artist and hesitantly left the apartment.

"So...." Rozalie placed her beer can on the table. "Dragon lady left, and we have two dead logs. Shall we call it a night?"

Everyone aside from the Artist agreed.

"Good. Now clean up and get ready for bedtime." She turned to the Artist who looked stunned at how the Writer was twirling her hair and chuckling like she saw an elf. "Don't just stand there, take that drunk to her room."

The Artist stiffly nodded and went straight to the Writer's room.

"Smell good," the Writer mumbled, inhaling the scent of Artist's neck. "Like burgers. I like burgers."

The Artist knew that fact and she did cooked burgers earlier.

Inside the Writer's room, the Artist gently laid the Writer on her bed.

But the Writer sat up, a goofy smile plastered on her face. She reached for the hem of her shirt and was about to remove her clothes when the Artist stopped her hands.

"You smiling was a surprise already. Removing any clothing will give me a pleasurable heart attack," she said to the drunk who merely swayed her head.

"Heh, Corgi red nose." The Writer poked the Artist's nose. She then yawned and fell back to her bed, snuggling on her blankets and lightly snoring.

The Artist debated if she should change the Writer's clothes. But the thought of a somewhat encounter where she saw the naked midriff of her flatmate overruled the idea.

#

The next day, the Writer groaned loudly as she sluggishly went to the kitchen area. She ignored the somewhat messy and full of sleeping bodies living area in favor of something that could take the headache away.

In the kitchen, the Writer saw a freshly brewed black coffee and a plate of biscuits, while the Artist was preparing a bowl that smelled of mushroom soup.

When the Artist saw her, she raised her right palm, stopping the Artist who was about to greet her.

"Whatever I did, don't remind me or I'll cram those beer cans down your throat."

The Artist laughed and nodded. Oh, she won't remind her flatmate... today that is.