[OOC: Started up a new log because the other thread disappeared off my f-list]The need for air was getting overwhelming.Rufus staggered away from Scarlet's very drunken attempts to get one arm around his shoulders and another down his pants, banged his leg painfully against the table, split punch down his jacket, and figured that a strategic retreat was called for. Perhaps he would even return to his room for reinforcements. No one, however drunk, messed with one large panther, black, fully equiped with enough jaw strength to crush bone. And tentacles. Two tentacles.Abandoning the now empty glass, he staggered towards the doors of the ballroom, wondering why the world seemed to insist on listing slightly to the right. Surely it wasn't because the room had been built on a slope. He'd have been... notified if it was. He'd have to take the Head of Building Administration to task very seriously about allowed sinkage to this extent. No wait.He paused just outside the doors, shaking his head violently as his senses caught up rather belatedly with him. How many glasses of punch had he drunk? It had been one. Then another when he'd talked to Reeve's secretary. And another when Heidegger had started telling his... jokes. And... oh gods.He groaned as he dimly recalled several more in between that one and the one he had split. Well, maybe he simply wouldn't be back. After all, it wasn't as if anyone would miss him----the world listed again, and sharply, and he stumbled, lost his balance and staggered into the wall. Except that there was a Turk in the way.[Tags: doublegunshot]
"Later, Dark Nation," Rufus mumbled, caught in that zone where he wasn't quite asleep and certainly not awake, and probably closer to the former than the latter. Something shifted at those words, soft fur brushing the edges of his fingertips where his arm hung over the edge of the bed. Huh? Not Dark Nation pawing at the door asking to be let out, then. Belated, he thought that it might have been the sound of the door opening, which meant that----he flung himself over the edge of the bed, except that it wasn't the bed and his reflexes were wallowing somewhere in cotton candy land, all fluffy and happily sticky. He hit the side table instead, sending something crashing to the ground, and Dark Nation took off with a yowl. He pulled a pistol from its concealed jacket, noting fuzzily that his shotgun was not by its usual stand beside his bed -- wait, this was the living room, not his bed room, what the hell -- and tried to keep his head down behind the very inadequate protection that the couch offered. It took him three tries to get the safety off, and with the world dancing the way it was, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to aim worth a damn.Weren't there supposed to be guards? Wouldn't he have heard a commotion if someone had tried to force his way through all the layers of security to break into his room?If you're caught sleeping, sir, it's better to pretend that you aren't awake. It makes our job easier, sir. Tseng's voice nagged him, belatedly, and he groaned mentally. Dark Nation was growling, somewhere out there, and he hissed at her to return to his side. Oh crap. Party. Post party. He was still drunk, and there was no way he was up to this. Where were the Turks?!