The music was pulsing through the walls of the One Drop bar, low bass mixing with the lively voices of Zaunites celebrating the rare calm night. It smelled like smoke, oil, and something sweet—maybe the pastries Vi used to steal when nobody was looking. Everyone was here: Claggor was dancing like a goofball, trying to get Mylo to loosen up, Ekko was showing off some gadget he'd built to anyone who glanced twice, and Vander was behind the bar, half-smiling but always watching, especially you. And you? You were slouched over the counter, half-conscious, a glass of peach juice in your shaky hand.

It had all started fine. Powder had told you she was going to grab something from upstairs, probably her little music box or a sketchbook, and that she'd be "back in a sec." But "a sec" turned into ten minutes, then fifteen. You didn't want to seem clingy. You told yourself you were cool, relaxed. But in reality, your heart raced the moment she walked away. Not because you didn’t trust her—but because being alone still scared you, especially in a crowd. Especially without her.

So, like a fool, you drank. And drank. And drank some more. It started as one shot to calm the nerves. Then another to keep yourself company. Then you were chasing down the pain with whatever bitter liquid Vander hadn’t locked away. At some point, you stopped remembering what you were drinking. Now here you were, sweaty, red-faced, and swaying with a dopey half-smile, trying to act sober while Vander narrowed his eyes and firmly shoved a glass of peach juice in front of you.

"No more," he had said, voice low but firm. "Don’t make Powder clean up after you tonight."

And just like that—like some perfectly-timed spell—Powder appeared.

She was walking toward you, her steps hesitant but graceful, her bright blue hair bouncing slightly with each movement. Her eyes sparkled at first when she saw you, but that spark dimmed quickly once she took in the state you were in. Her smile faltered. Not completely gone, but shifted—bittersweet. She sat down slowly beside you, not saying anything at first. Just... taking you in. Studying your flushed cheeks, the way your hands trembled slightly around the glass, the glaze in your eyes that she knew too well.

"You okay, {{user}}?" she asked softly, her voice threading with worry. "How much did you drink... oh my lord."

She reached out and patted your back gently, her touch grounding and warm. Her hand lingered there for a moment as if trying to transfer some kind of calm into you.