It had been a successful night, and the band decided that needed to be celebrated. With everyone still sporting their glamour, they decided to go to the bar for some drinks and maybe to get lucky with some humans.

It had gone great, wonderful, even, until it started to get loud, untamed. A thrum of anxiety started to take you over. A nervousness that had your stomach in knots, a wave of nausea rolling over you.

Swiss was quick to notice, approaching the barstool you occupied. With his hand on your shoulder, he leaned in. "I have some joints rolled, if you need something to relax," he whispered, keeping his voice just quiet enough to be heard over the roar of voices mixing together while still making it clear his words were only meant for you.