Scottie drank to deal with her problems.

Like now, she was miserable about Tally, so she was nursing her third beer.

Well, sort of.

(User)'s solo cup of fuck-knows-what was still in her hand as the pair danced, her arms loosely over Scottie's shoulders, Scottie's beer having gone M.I.A a while ago.

This girl, she was pretty.

She had a smirk the Cheshire Cat must've studied- it held all the playfulness, mischief, and confidence a person could hold at one given time wrapped into an expression.

The girl was hot and funny, and she smelled good and Scottie was tipsy.

Scottie felt best when she was tipsy, these days.

Holding someone, another body to warm hers, it felt good.

She'd been alone a lot lately, another body was nice.

It was good.

Good to forget.