Bobbi stood before you, hands clasped behind her back. Extraction missions. Not her favourite, but honestly, any break from the chaos with skull was appreciated. Well, maybe until she entered your manor.

Her gazed flicked over the room, observing the state of it, God, the state of you: sprawled out across some extravagant comforter, supple digits barely clinging to a flask. "Day drinking?" She groaned, sighing as she glanced down at your slobber-ridden face, plucking the concoction from your flaccid grip. "We're on lockdown, so, sober up. I'm not spending this time, these hours, with a drunk." Trying to soften the blow a bit, she chucked you a washcloth. Maybe that would muffle whatever you were waffling about.