Margaery had not found comfort in the form of a glass of wine in quite a while. Indulgence hadn't been an option when she had been out on her own and before Suiteheart had turned into a bear and her vampirism returned, she had not found drinking away her problems to be necessary. But things were different now and the chocolate point longed for a temporary distraction from her sorrows. She was unsure if finding said distraction at the bottom of an expensive bottle of chardonnay was a wise decision, but it was one that had already been carried out.

At least halfway anyways.

Margaery was not drunk by any standards. Rather, she saw the world through that rose-colored lens once more. She had troubles, yes, but the alcohol had done its intended job and erased them temporarily from her memory. She was humming some tune now, carefully refilling her crystalline glass so that she could continue to sip pleasantly away at the wine that she stumbled upon by mere chance. What were the chances! She had simply been wandering near the border when she discovered the aged bottle, assuming that it must have been dropped by someone or something on its travels. She viewed it as abandoned and, ever the kindly soul, opened her home to it. Who was she to pass up wine as good as the one she was currently drinking?

Rearing upon chocolate-hued haunches, Margaery began to sing a little bit, swaying to the rhythm of her own music. [color=#b14767]"I like my girls just like I like my honey; sweet, a little selfish. I like my women like I like my money; green, a little jealousss." She didn't remember acquiring the tune in her travels but it sure was catchy.

Temporarily appeased for the first time in a while, the Observer sat back even further and shut stormy gray eyes. She would relish in this false peace for as long as she could.

Margaery abruptly halted in her singing upon Bastillepaw's arrival, suddenly self conscious of her voice. Perhaps the alcohol was reinforcing her inhibitions rather than removing them- whatever the case, she was mildly aware of the fact that the tipsier version of herself was anything but a good singer. Forcing the kuiper corporal to listen to her attempts of faux pop-stardom were just cruel, she ultimately decided, and besides, she couldn't drink wine and sing at the same time and the former obviously had priority.

"Tell me how you really feel."

Awful. Tired. On the verge of breaking.

All of her potential answers were clouded by the fog in her brain though and, heavily under the affects of the bottle of wine, merely giggled. [color=#b14767]"Nice." Her answer was short, sweet, and a bit strange coming from her. A being with such polite, elegant restraint seemed to be incapable of getting drunk let alone indulging in alcohol period. Margaery was all about surprising people, she supposed... she liked being unpredictable.

[color=#b14767]"My song is about my beautiful wife," She informed with a confident nod of her head. Admittedly, the lyrics she had once sang so proudly had already escaped her memory but she assumed that they referred to Suiteheart in some way. Most of the songs she sang usually did. [color=#b14767]"And how do you not know what alcohol is?" The point half-demanded, a pointed look extended in Lunafreya's direction. She hadn't intended for the inquiry to come out so boldly and so rudely... it just sort of did. Oh well, there was no reason to take it back now.

[COLOR=#B14767]"Definitely a buzz," Margaery extended with another one of her girlish giggles, blue eyes instantly brightening upon Eternal's arrival. She quite enjoyed the tiger's presence and, had the girl not expressed what Margy could only read as a disinterest in alcohol, she would have poured her a glass of wine almost immediately. Instead, she resigned to only half listening to what she had to say, her attention suddenly piqued by the devastating fact that her own glass was nearly empty. That simply wouldn't do! Margaery needed to fix the issue and soon... if she wasn't drinking, she was thinking about the over-complicated mess her life had become and she couldn't handle that. Not right now.

With clumsy paws, she fumbled with the bottle of chardonnay for a mere moment before sloppily refilling her glass. [color=#b14767]"That's better..." She murmured to herself, a metaphorical brow stitching together contemplatively. She was momentarily distracted from her drink as Bastillepaw mentioned that she seemed 'nice'. She didn't know exactly what that meant but personally figure that it was some sort of compliment. [color=#b14767]"Thanks!" Came her cheeky response, followed shortly by a rather long sip at her wine.

Bastillepaw was correct in observing that Margaery was unhinged. Her refined grace and elegance had practically been tossed at the window and the pretty girl's only priority appeared to be the mundane chitchat she was making and her precious, precious alcohol. [color=#b14767]"I sing so many songs about Suiteheart! She's my favorite person.... I love her... Don't tell her I'm drinking though... I don't think she likes when I do very much."

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★  WHEN MY HEART IS MADE FROM GOLD AND FORGIVENESS SEEMS TOO BOLD

Alcohol. Hazel knew very well what the concentrated drinks were, and what they did. Mother would come home drunk from time to time, tripping over her own paws and stumbling into things and muttering to herself. Sometimes she would go straight to bed and sleep straight through the day; but that was only if Hazel was absolutely silent and didn’t make a sound. Other times, Hazel wasn’t so lucky. Mother would come home in the middle of the afternoon and catch Hazel in the kitchen, searching for something to eat. There would be one second where neither of them moved: Hazel frozen to the spot with terror, and Mother swaying where she stood in the doorway. Then she would stalk towards Hazel, spitting curses and lamenting how much better - how much more useful - her other children would have been. Hazel would be lucky to escape to her room with minimal scratches at that point.

Her last night in her old clan had been when Mother was drunk and yelling. Hazel could remember the sour stench of alcohol that permeated the room, and the rage that had filled Mother’s eyes. She remembered every hurtful word Mother slurred at her, every bitter complaint, every awful thing that made Hazel feel like she was worth less than the dirt under her paws. So when she saw her opening, she took it: leaping out the front door and hitting the ground in a tumble of legs and tail. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to what she would have endured had she stayed. So Hazel ran.

So when Hazel approached the growing group, she couldn’t say alcohol was unfamiliar. No - it was just a trigger, and it pulled her walls and nerves up once more. She sat, apprehensive and quiet, feeling the scar under her bandana prickle uncomfortably as she absently rubbed over it with her tail.

To say she blamed Margy was incorrect; Margy had no idea of Hazel’s past. In fact, Hazel was well aware that most adults used this coping mechanism. It just so happened that she...had a negative experience with it. Suite’s own quiet manner didn’t help her apprehension, either. Hazel only got the feeling that this wasn’t irregular, and immediately hoped the opposite. She didn’t want her past getting in the way of her opinion of Margaery - the chocolate point didn’t deserve it.

Still, Hazel could appreciate what Margy was saying wasn’t negative at all, but instead lovely things about Suite. That certainly flipped Hazel’s experience on its head, and the smallest of smiles appeared from where she sat.

★ — hazel — "speech" — seven months — the ascendants — tags — ★
c) miithers