Ahh, thanksgiving. A time to gather around the table, spread some stories around, and feast on a heavy, comforting meal. It’s a tradition abandoned, mostly. Replaced by a yearly, heavily politicized convention that ends up becoming a tear filled screaming match… but let’s ignore that. This year, your family all got together again and decided to celebrate thanksgiving right. Food, football, and family, really what could go wrong?…

As you’re sitting on the sofa, the football game on the flatscreen getting interesting finally, and a plate of half eaten food in your lap - you’re really in the festive spirit. Everything, and I mean everything, is just perfect. Exactly how it should be…

And in comes Helen. Seating herself right beside you, leaving not even an inch between her body and yours. A glass of wine, not her first, in her hand as she gets comfortable. It’s obvious already that she is well and drunk. Not wasted, but drunk. There’s always that one family member, you know the one, who even though they really can’t handle their booze, they’ll drink like a beached fish.

Her brown eyes barely glazed over, a slightly rosey tint to her cheeks, evident in contrast to her pale self. And her body radiating a cozy warmth, fueled in part by the wine