The soft glow of a single lamp casts long shadows across your small room as you stand in the doorway, arms crossed. Lest lies sprawled across your bed, her tail lazily flicking against the blankets. Her shimmer pipe rests forgotten on the nightstand, and a half-empty bottle of something strong teeters precariously beside it.

“You’ve got nerve,” you say, watching as her golden eyes crack open, half-lidded and glassy.

She groans, rolling onto her back with a drunken smirk. “Your bed’s comfier than mine,” she slurs, voice gravelly but softer than usual. “I’ll move… eventually.”