Cinderella

Inebriation

Picking up sticks wasn't exactly Winslow's idea of a good time, but he knew that they would have to last the group all night and the next morning, so he took his time. After a while, he returned to camp. His eyes widened at what he saw.

Mariette was dancing-sort of-and giggling like a child. Victor was laughing and trying to join in, and Cyrus was watching the pair of them, his expression amused.

"No, no, no," Mariette said, stepping back from Victor. "Your feet are just too big; this will never do." Her voice was distinctly tipsy, and she stumbled as she pushed Victor away. Her eyes were fogged over and she murmured, "Whoops," as she kicked over a canteen of water. Victor and her stared at the spilled water for a moment and started laughing.

"What did you do to her?" Winslow asked, dropping the sticks as he neared, but he was smiling.

Her eyes widened when she saw him. "Winslow!" she gasped, as if she hadn't seen him in years. She threw herself into his arms, and he had to catch her so that she did not fall. She kissed him exuberantly.

"Um, hello," he said, blinking.

She giggled again. "Come dance with me! Your feet are smaller than Victor's." She turned from him and fell onto her knees. "Whoops," she said again, laughing.

He pulled her to her feet and draped her arm around his shoulders. "Have you been drinking?"

She laughed and put a hand over her mouth. "Maybe a little." Winslow's eyes found the empty bottle near her and she revised, "Maybe a lot."

She kissed him again, and hugged him around his waist. "Dance with me?"

He blinked, and almost agreed. Then he realized that his arms around her were all that was keeping her from falling. "Maybe later. I think maybe you should lie down."

She frowned. "But I'm not tired."

"Yeah," Victor grunted, smiling. "The girl ain't tired. Let her be!"

Winslow smiled down into Mariette's violet eyes and she hiccupped. "That is a very bad idea." He looked back at Victor. "I cannot believe you intoxicated my fiancée."

Victor laughed. "The girl's nineteen years of age and never had a drop of brandy! I was doing a favor."

She slipped her arms around his neck. "See, Winslow? He was just doing me a favor." She laughed again and tugged away from him, reaching for the bottle on the ground. When she turned it upside-down and found it to be empty, she frowned. "I didn't drink all of this."

Winslow caught her arm as she stumbled. "I'm assuming Victor helped."

"I did not!" Victor held up his own empty bottle. "She did that all on her own. We came prepared, boy. Four bottles of brandy in those bags! 'Course that means there's only two left..."

He smiled down at Mariette, who was now trying to take her boots off. "You drank an entire bottle of brandy? And just what are you doing?"

"These boots are so uncomfortable," she muttered, tugging them off. "It's positively ridiculous. Why make riding boots that are uncomfortable?"

Cyrus began to laugh. "Oh, I know this routine. Better get her to bed before she decides that her bodice is uncomfortable, too. Not that that wouldn't be highly entertaining."

"Did you drink any?" Winslow asked him curiously, hauling Mariette to her feet. When she began to slip again, he lifted her entirely into his arms.

Cyrus shook his head. "I was afraid of what you would return to if one of us didn't remain sober."

"I'm still not tired," Mariette whispered into his shirt, already closing her eyes.

"I can see that," Winslow said, and led her to her bedroll. He slipped her inside and she blinked up at him.

"Winslow?"

"Hm?"

"I am going to vomit." She quickly sat up from the bedroll, spun around, and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the forest floor.

She couldn't open her eyes. If she opened her eyes then the light that was drifting through her closed lids would split her head in two. She couldn't move, either. She groaned loudly.

"Cinders?" a quiet voice said and she felt fingers lightly brush the hair from her forehead.

"Ow," she whispered.

The voice laughed. "It'll subside after a while. For now, you need to drink some tea."

"If I move, or even open my eyes, I am going to die." Her voice was hoarse.

"Possibly. But, after the initial pain of actually being in motion, the tea will probably help a little."

Mariette pulled her eyes open, just a tiny bit. "I am never consuming alcohol again in my life."

Vaguely, through a film of pain, she saw Winslow smile. "That's too bad. You are really rather fun when drunk. You kissed me twice."

She groaned again and through a hand over her eyes. "I'll kiss you when I'm sober. I am going to kill Victor."

Winslow snorted. "If you can wake him up. He drank as much as you did."

"I need you to kill me," Mariette said quietly. "And then I need you to kill Victor."

Mariette heard the sound of water pouring and knew Winslow was preparing tea. "You are violent when you're hung over."

"I am miserable when I am hung over," she muttered, sitting up. She put a shaky hand to her head. "Do people enjoy this? Why does Victor continue to drink when he knows that this is going to happen? It's really not worth the trouble."

Winslow sat next to her and, after he felt that she was shivering, pulled her blanket over her shoulders. He handed her the tea. "Drink it, you will feel better."

"Easy for you to say," Mariette murmured into the cup.

His arm went around her shoulders. "Want to know the worse part?"

Mariette moaned. "It gets worse than this? I absolutely, positively, do not want to know the worst part."

"Alright," Winslow said, and sat in silence for a few minutes, baiting her.

She sighed. "What is it?"

"We have to continue riding today. We don't have the time to delay because someone was being distinctly irresponsible."

Mariette leaned back into him, only because she didn't think she could hold herself up. "I hate you."

He kissed her hair. "Liar."