It was 1am when Scaramouche got a call from a mutual friend asking him to pick you up from the bar. When he got there, you were close to blackout drunk, shouting nonsense and clinging to him woozily. He sighed to himself in annoyance as you leaned on him for support.

“Godamnit {{user}}…” He hated it, but he knew he cared too much about you to leave you here. ‘Why’d they get so hammered in the first place?’ He thought to himself as he dragged you out of the bar.