"What trouble...?" The bartender murmured as he took the cash. Nat finished her drink and was onto her second. Alcohol was a good partner in crime when it came to killing time.



From what Nat could see, a fairly drab redhead was cashing on her misery. Five feet and five inches of call-girl material was covered by a pair of grey boy-shorts and a solid black crop-top with a pair of leather sandals to boot. By the appearance of her flushed cheeks, she was already filled up with a quite a bit of booze, and her teeth were already lazily grazing over her lower lip as if she were to shout out "fuck me" at any given moment.

But her eyes told otherwise. Her brows were furrowed, and her pupils were contracted. They were locked onto something, something somewhere in that monochromatic canvas of a bar...

...like a Rubix Cube, that 6-sided puzzle made specifically to torture those without patience by the means of obnoxiously bright colors shifting here, there, and everywhere except together. Unlike the others Nat might've seen thus far, though, the cube in the drunkard's hands wasn't a simple 3x3 contraption.

It was an 8x8. And all the lines became rainbow blurs in her hands as the internal plastic clicked and clacked at a constant tempo, one that ebbed and flowed like a rising tide. And the observer could see it : two of the same color standing together, then four, then five, then eight...



"A shot of cognac or rum for every side I complete; how about it?"

The auburn-haired girl had stopped the cube mid-turn as the smell of absinthe wafted out of a pair of smirking, pouty lips. Don't ask how she got the 56 other squares lined up in less than 4, maybe 5 seconds, but already she was quite close to finishing. A little nudge of the finger would complete the side, but it was entirely at Nat's whim to determine if it would happen.

All she had to do was say "Yes".

To say that Nat was inwardly, minorly amused by the question would be an understatement. For her, it was less of a question and more of a challenge. Of course, this not-so-innocent looking stranger didn't know of her tolerance for alcohol, but that made it all the more amusing to Nat. She almost. almost smiled, but instead, simply turned to her and nodded, losing no time in ordering a bottle of cognac from the bartender, who, with that bartender's intuition of his, supplied them with shot glasses as well. In the moments the bartender took to fetch the bottle, Nat observed a few people coming into the bar and she still found herself shocked by the amount of patrons on a Sunday night. Most of them didn't look like kids on vacation though. Nat was soon seated across from the woman and had set the bottle between them, a clean, dry shotglass given to each.

A smirk slid across the redhead's face as a flick of the finger kicked off the first of six shots. With the plastic, hollow clatter of the cube followed the sound of glass skidding off of the grain of the wooden countertop, right up until the redhead's shot clinked with Nat's.

Pinched in between three fingers, up went the glass, and down went the spirit.

The smell of wormwood had mingled only briefly with the cognac, but as the fiery drink slid its way down her throat, the absinthe was gone fairly quickly. As for Nat, it went down like water, with the burn of something hot, rather than the burn of booze, a sensation she became desensitized to long ago. However, like her drinking partner, the taste of what she was drinking before was washed away within moments, the grainy, hoppy taste of the beer now only a remarkably colorful memory. After placing the empty glass back onto the counter to be replaced or refilled, Sabine spun on her stool to get a better look at the flowery character adjacent to her.

Venka Morfeo, some of the kids at the arcade would recall her as. Fantasy extraordinaire since her first novel became a hit with the young adults, but certainly nothing that Sabine would have expected. From the chest-up, Sabine could see white petals intertwined with curls, frills, and whisps of mocha-brown hair. Her eyes, which had just feigned the impression of a drowsy mien, now panned the bar with as much excitement as the inhabitants she observed. With a cute button nose resting just above a pair of full, kissable lips parted just enough so pearly white teeth could graze at the lower lip ever so softly. All in all, Miss Morfeo's complexion was easy on the eyes.

Her frail physique, in stark contrast, told of an entirely different upbringing.

Where the redhead had thought of soft, pudgy features from a (n assumably) well-off life in a first-world country, the Miss Morfeo she could see was a delicate, fragile bouqet. Too thin, it would seem, for even a third-world country's average citizen to be. From the chin down, Sabine could see the attentuated peduncle of a neck suspending Miss Morfeo's face perfectly still in the air. The slight slouch was to help the woman use more support from the lowered, steepled fingers - a complicated bulb of appendages - resting dead-center on her lap.

It seemed as though even the smallest of nudges could send the little flower toppling over to her death.

...not that she wasn't already. If Miss Morfeo had any excitement, it was an ephemeral experience; again would come the same glazed eyes, gazing into memories unseen, untold, unforgotten, and sorely missed.

Sabine wasn't one to enjoy a poor romanticization of the Dark Ages, nor was she one to pine over things lost (admitted, she never lost much in the first place). But there was at least something a little off with the woman, and that was all she needed to know. No use prying if Morfeo didn't want it.

One last click in Sabine's hands finished the blue side, in addition to the red, but Sabine couldn't help but stare as her mind wandered off to other, more carnal musings. If only she could make little flowers like Morfeo twist and writhe in delirious pleasure until ses yeux would roll up into milky whi-

"Miss Fukuhara, does the name Morfeo ring a bell?" was all the redhead asked as she turned to a nearby woman clad in a white doctor's coat, who (in short) wasn't bad to look at either by means of her Slavic and (broadly speaking) Asian descent. The woman, always dressed in that adorable, flowy white coat of hers would be hard to forget, even if she was a relatively new arrival to the univeristy. A little clink of plastic placed the cube down, a signal to the bartender that if there was ever a time to fill up a shot, it would be now.

Professor Fukuhara hardly paid attention to how the Woman in Red knew her name; surprises were hard to come by when you weren't drunk, at least by Elvira's logic. "Nope," she said simply, shaking her head, "no idea." To be honest, she had heard the name before, however didn't have much curiosity to delve deeper. Yet, her orbs of sight couldn't help but gaze over at the person who addressed her, and the other woman sitting alongside them. "I assume you know it, though."

Doing the job of the bartender to save him the trouble of constantly filling shot glasses at the pace of her drinking partner, Nat froze mid pour at the mention of her pen name, nearly overfilling her own glass, but quickly recovering. She never really revealed her pen name to anyone casually, so it was a slight shock that someone recognized her like this. Even her Wikipedia article didn't feature a photo of her. Must come with living in Shine City,, Nat reasoned as she sipped a bit from the shot glass so it wouldn't splash onto her face from being overfilled when she downed it. That would be embarassing, to say the least, though she didn't know this stranger who seemed to very much know her, it would be fairly embarassing nonetheless.

The woman opposite Nat was like a polar opposite to her. Unlike Nat's reserved, very sober demeanor this woman seemed drunk even in her appearance, constantly drunk. Though, it wasn't Nat's sort of drunk, the kind of thing she only got after specifically meaning to get drunk, which was a somber, thoughtful and deep sort of drunk. This woman was the happy sort of drunk, bubbly, fun, a bit wild and definitely uncaring. Even her appearance was in stark contrast to her own, save for a passing similarity, she was definitely starkly unlike herself. Quite... colorful, though she reserved that word for specific types of people. She was physically colorful and somewhat endearing in her... trashiness? For a writer, Nat was suddenly having trouble finding words to describe this redheaded stranger. "Please, you may call me Nat...?"

The booze was getting to her. She foggily realized she never learned her name. That's new.

"Nat...Natalia?" Sabine guessed as she placed an elbow on the counter, before cradling her own chin with her hand. "...Nataline...or Natalie? Don't answer, though; I love guessing games. My name's Sabine...D'aramitz. I've never heard of a last name like Morfeo, though. Is that just for the books?"

Her distinctly Cuban accent, as it always did with conversations longer than a few minutes, was coming out again.

As she pondered upon the flower's name, her other hand swirled the cognac in the shot glass with as much care as a woman of her stature could possibly be (considering her party trick, it's with more care than most). Down went the cognac again without even so much as a cheer or a clink of glass.

For one, Sabine was glad that she had eaten her share of fried foods earlier in the day. She was only slightly heftier than Nat, so the alcohol would have approximately the same effect on her on an empty stomach.

For another, Sabine was even gladder that she drank a little bit of olive oil before she even came to the bar. While she certainly was of the age where alcohol wouldn't be as detrimental as it was before, old habits had a tendency to die hard.

Again, the glass clinked against the countertop, and yet again, the cube in her hands became a blur as she tried for three sides.

"Never mind that. What's it like, being an author?"

Another woman answered in her place: "I believe it's Hell, but then again, that might be too much of a reading, hehehe!"

The scientist whom had placed herself at the bar alongside the other two was taking swigs of rum from the bottle. Her gulps were aduible, not soft, as the sole intent of becoming drunk enough to kill a small child at least became evident. The duo of drunken women had become a trio, or so it would seem.

Elvira glimpsed over at the two with a strange sort of smile which would've indicated one of two things:

A) She'd had a rough day, or;
B) She'd had a rough night.

Either way, the woman in question was here to drink excessive amounts of booze alongside them, and didn't look like she would be leaving anytime soon. Even as the other patrons of this fine establisment had begun to get... rowdy. "I swear I'm going to sock those мало гадит if they keep this up..." From the look on her face, she would definitely try if this kept up, even if she didn't have the physique to do so.

Anyways...

"But I'm right, right? Being an author is haaaaaaaaaaaard. I'm no book writer and even I can appreciate the pain and suffering you need to go through. It's almost... nah, never mind." All of a sudden, Elvira's face got rather red. 'Come on, Elvira. You're honestly not so drunk that you're thinking about something like that, are you? Jesus Christ...'

Nat, meanwhile, didn't have much of a concept of the rowdiness in the bar. Sure, things were getting a bit louder than before, but she wouldn't call it "rowdy". Shine City has her fair share of bars and Nat had visited quite a few and compared to some in other parts of town, this was particularly quiet. She'd get worried if things started being thrown around, at which point she'd take a smoke break and either wait for the situation to calm down before resuming her drinking or taking her leave. Nat briefly pondered the idea of what it must be like to be a bartender and turning around in her seat to gaze at the bartender, she silently sent her sympathies. Inner debates aside, however, she had a question to answer. "I don't think my case is very close to most authors." Realizing she missed a shot while their new Slavic acquaintance was talking, she finished the small glass and already she wanted a bit more.

Yeah, we're at that stage... Nat thought to herself, there always came a stage when she wanted to continously drink more. Realistically speaking, she was on the border between sobriety and inebriation. She had about ten drinks left in her before she couldn't drive anymore. "I have pain and suffering, but it's mostly something I resolve with my psychologist. Or try to. My writing is more of a release than a worry. The publisher has deadlines that would murder most other writers, and I hear they do. I don't need to look for inspiration though, so I just write and then have a lot of free time."

The writer finally took a moment to clearly look over her drinking partners, who seemed to be one definite Russian-Asian of some mix and a... French woman? No, Latin American. Nat couldn't really pick out her accent. The other one, however, definitely had an accent that she could pick out, with drinking habits only adding to the impression. Both were... a lot more drunk than her. "Oh, right. Morfeo isn't my real name either and Natalia is what my grandmother called me, which was never correct anyway. Sabine, are you going to make it through that cube again or should I treat you to a cocktail for the effort?" She grinned. It was unabashedly a challenge.

She felt less sure about challenging the Miss Fukuhara, however, she looked redder than... the Soviet banner. I'm kicking myself for that one.. "Are you alright though, Miss...?" she worriedly scratched the woman's shoulder. Nat always found it strange how friendly she got when under the influence and always ended up regretting it the next day when she found many new contacts in her phone, but thankfully, never anyone in her bed. So far, anyway.

Oddly, the emerald-haired woman began to giggle as Nat scratched at her shoulder. "No, nooooo~! I'm ticklish, ahaaa!" Her face contorted into a light-hearted grin as she attempted to brush the woman off.

Nat was in shock at what she just started. Not only did she not learn the name of the lady, but a simple rub of her shoulder had been the catalyst for a laughing fit. Glancing over at Sabine with a very worried expression, she asked her "Perhaps... I should take you home and get you some rest, hm?" She did her best to smile caringly but mostly made a forced, awkward grimace of a smile.

Sabine smirked as she brushed a swath of stray bangs away from Elvira's face, before reaching to the back of the woman's neck to massage her nape. If she could at least calm the professor down, maybe she'd get the chance to take back home both of these lovely flowers.

The redhead tugged the emerald-haired woman closer until all but their lips were in full skin-to-skin contact. Whispers heavy with the scent of cognac floated around Elvira's head, inebriating scent, sound, and taste with every syllable.

"Miss Fukuhara, can you be a good girl and sit tight for a bit? I'm just gonna play with this lovely young woman here, and then I'll play with you all you want, alright? Can you do that?"

She didn't wait for an answer; even so, Elvira nodded, head spinning somewhat from the... experience. Her hand squeezed and kneaded the soft, supple flesh of the nape before showering her cheek with kisses, leaving a silvery lace of saliva drooped between the damp imprints left on Elvira's cheek and Sabine's lips. Further and further did the redhead slip away, dragging her fingertips from the uprofessor's thighs to her knees. Elvira shuddered.

"I'll be right back. Be a good girl and wait for a bit, okay?"

"O-OK...~" The professor replied, as a sudden warmth had flushed her entire body.

Meanwhile, Nat was a bit mesmerized by the display. Not out of curiosity, desire or even interest, but more by the total lack of care from either of the women for the people around. They must know each other, she remarked, making a mental shrug. Homosexuality was never really public in Soma, so to see it so open here was a peculiar change of pace.

Right after she pulled away, her hands were on the cube again. Each square blurred until the cube became a hovering kaleidoscope.

"Well, I'm certain that Miss Fukuhara here should be present at the university tomorrow for orientation. I live nearby, so I'll have her spend the night at my place."

She leaned forward and beamed with pleasure. A pair of sapphire orbs pierced into Natille's eyes with glass-shard sharpness. Elvira herself gave Sabine and odd look and grinned to herself smugly. Because you know, why not?

"As for you, Nat...well, you're a woman with plenty of free time. If it isn't too much trouble, could...perhaps you could donate a few hours with a person, and not...this."

With one hand, she swirled the cognac bottle around while the other slapped the cube down onto the countertop, all sides completed.

"I'll be taking your offer on the cocktail, if it means sharing a Cuba Libre. We can use the cognac here, instead of the rum. How about it?"

Sensing the inevitability of the completion of the cube, Nat had already prepared two shots, but a cocktail certainly wasn't something she was against. "Why not. Though, I have to admit I'm a bit confused by the idea of 'donating' a few hours to you.." She downed her shot of cognac and relished the flavor of it. She was starting to feel a burn now, since her throat reacted a bit more sloppily now -- at least, she thought so, there was always the chance of that not even being scientifically correct --, but she quite liked it. "Care to elaborate?"

"Well..." Sabine started, but quickly downed her own shot to prevent Elvira from doing anything too rash.

Unfortunately, Elvira was being the point of rationality, as made evident by the steady chugging of rum...

A cleared throat restarted her answer, though she had to giggle a little bit as her cheeks flushed a bit redder. Sabine was affect not so much by the alcohol as she was by the memories of years past. They were...embarrassing, to say the least.

"You spend time and money here, no? Well, back where I was from, I used to...um, well, be a working woman, of a kind, and...well, I had a habit of being generous with my customers. I used to have a lot of free time, since I didn't have an education after high school...and what better way to spend it than on drinks and cute gringos?"

She was still snickering at the thought of her earlier lifestyle long after the bartender had brought the cola and the lime juice in a cocktail glass, which Sabine completed with the cognac before stirring up its contents. By the time she was positive all the ingredients were blended, she had sobered up a little bit before taking the first sip. The glass would slide towards Natille's way not long after.

"...I miss my hometown. I shouldn't be, but I know not everyone was bad, even with the pimps and all. I still remember a lot of good things there..."

The words reminded Elvira of her own home. Well, would-be home. Sabine sighed as her lips pressed against her knuckles. Her eyes were staring off into a memory of a land of sunshine and ocean, of run-down buildings crowded next to new ones. She still remembered the vendors and cab drivers by the streets they frequented, though no longer by name.

She missed the mariposas the most.

"I didn't come here to be ungrateful towards Shine City, so before I think too much...mind if I stick with the name Natalia, ma'am?"

"I do mind. To you, my name is definitely Nat. To most people it is, save for my grandmother and my grandmother died while I was out cold in a hospital bed...." living a better life... she would have said, but that would warrant more questions than Nat would like to answer. "I didn't have an education after highschool as well, but for reasons that are probably a lot different to yours, but back to the main subject here, I'm still a bit vague on what kind of time you want me to donate, but let me assure you that any kind of time I spend with you will be very... clean. I'm not looking for love, hell, my psychologist tells me I should spend some time at night with someone every once in a while, but I'm not really looking for that either."

Finishing her tirade, Nat shocked herself at how cold she was and already felt bad. This convinced her to take a hearty gulp from the cocktail. "I'd tell you to take me to dinner first, but that line is not only corny, but not especially fitting considering the situation." Nat decided to tell a joke to warm things up a bit more. Though, bizarrely enough, she was starting to regret her whole celibacy in general. Maybe I should stay away from the booze... she thought, pushing the glass away.

Sabine, however, did not look impressed at Nat's little tirade. Regardless of how her face took on the hue of a strawberry, the furrowed brows, compounded with the stare from eyes of a shattered, crackled sky, told Natille she was more than just a little miffed at the sudden sass.

"...so what are you looking for, Nat?"

The cocktail was swept aside, its last diluted portions relegated to Elvira as the cognac bottle was brought back between the two girls along with the cube.

"You've got money to burn on this...habit of yours, and you've got time besides writing little dreams, but..."

The redhead took a swig directly from the bottle, before offering it to Natille. The cocktail truce had been set aside to continue the challenge from before.

"...if it's not people you're looking for...what, then?"

The writer was taken aback by this question, shocked even. To put it honestly, she didn't really have a response to the question, so after staring Sabine down for a good long moment, she simply smiled and answered "To kill time."

She stretched in her chair and tested the weight of the cognac bottle in her hand, estimating how much was left, as she formulated her thoughts "I don't have much to do except write and I don't plan to do much but write. It's my goal, but I don't want to accomplish it early and lose my purpose, so I kill time. If you have any tips, they'd be welcome."

There was enough to share three mouthfuls of the stuff for each (excluding Elvira), amounting to six in total. That would account for the last three sides Sabine completed before, or...maybe double of that. Alcohol bottles often played tricks with the eyes.

"Tip number one, then : time is best spent with other people, drinking or otherwise."

The redhead leaned forward until she had to put her hand on Natille's knee just to support her self, close enough that the scent of the cognac was constant between exchanged breaths. An insistent hand pushed the bottom of the bottle until its rim gently bumped against Natille's lips.

"And the best way to do that is to not assume that every girl sharing your drinks is also bent on sharing a bed with you. That's the kind of behavior you put up for the boys."

The drunk smile was back, and her hair was falling over her own face. Even the alcohol was getting to Sabine.

Nat laughed. "Cheers!" she said as she pushed the girl away gently, taking the bottle and taking a large gulp. "Do excuse me, I think I was getting a bit too serious. I trust you, Sabine, though I have to confess it was less a generalization of people in general wanting to get in bed with me and more you, based on how you were acting. I'm often wrong though."

"Well...izzat so? Assumptions are for men, and...you're not a man...my turn?"

Sabine lurched forward as best as she could, and snatched the bottle out of Natille's hand for a few glugs of her own. Unbeknownst to her, her hand was resting quite comfortably on Natille's thigh.

"Your turn now, Natilia...Natille...Nat..."

This impromptu drinking game was quickly becoming amusing. And potentially dangerous. However, like with many things, alcohol dulled the feeling of danger and Nat felt perfectly comfortable taking a few gulps more from the bottle, the vessel becoming lighter and lighter in between the two ladies. "I wouldn't know, I only have experience with men anyway..." she half-mumbled as she passed the drink back, not yet noticing the pressure on her thigh.

Sabine lifted the bottle up into the air as she shook it it to and fro lazily, swirling the relatively pallid brandy in the air. Her mind was already set on those thoughts, thoughts of just having the writer for a night.

The cognac was like water, at this point. A bittersweet, fiery sort of water, one that served only to inflame every nerve on her body until she was itching for release. The redhead lifted her hand from the writer's thigh and danced its way up to her cheek.

"Is that so? Well...it's your turn now. Since you're the one paying, do me one more favor and say 'ah'..."

Then the hand slid down to Natille's chin. A light pressure of the thumb would prompt the writer to open her mouth. The bottle was tilting now, tilting to give Natille the last portion of the ambery liquid.

Elvira giggled as she watched the scene from the side. "Haaaaah~! Loooooks at these two lesbiaaaaans! Mmmmmh~!" By now she was certifiably smashed, though not in such a way that would interrupt limb momentum, it seems. Her arms wrapped around Nat, restricting her arms, and just being a small nuisance. To Sabine, however, this action may just work in her favour. "Chug-a-hug!" Well, at least she was happy.

If Nat had ever planned to escape from this situation, it was damn near impossible now, with the Russian wrapping her arms around her in a drunkenly passionate embrace and Sabine pressing her -- literally -- into taking a final few glugs. Not only that, but their green haired acquaintance was making quite a few comments that had Nat feeling somewhat off. Well, no use turning back now..., she thought to herself and said a quiet, somewhat shy "ahhh". She was going to play along, but she preferred if the entire bar wasn't spectating.

Sure enough, the last remnants of the cognac went into Natille's mouth, though it was a certainly large mouthful. Two rivulets of the brandy snaked their way down her cheeks and neck, leaving a searing, then sticky sensation on the pallid flesh as the cognac snaked its way into her collarbone and below. A wet, ambery patch was blooming across her blouse, dead-center between two pillowy soft mounds.

Sabine was quick to tilt the bottle away as a finger stroked Natille's neck, caressing it with the soft brush of a fingernail as Sabine sampled again and again Natille's brandy-flavored throat with promiscuous kisses and licks. Wherever the redhead had carressed, nerves seemed to spring and sharpen with the saliva in the cool night air. Ever faithful to its task, Sabine's tongue slid and flicked its way down the spilt rivulet, cleaning every inch of the stained skin until Sabine found her chin nestled snugly between two soft little clouds as her tongue lapped up the rest.

And then it happened. Lips mingling with lips, a quick exchange of fluids, a teasing tag of the tongue. Sabine pulled away, leaving a silvery string of saliva between the two.

That wouldn't do. It was hardly enough, scrumptious as it was.

Before any word could be spoken, Sabine leaned forwards again, and kissed. Tongue tittled tongue as the redhead inhaled Natille's air, stealing it from the pale flower as she wrapped her arms around Natille's waist. Between Elvira and Sabine, the thought of Natille's escape was becoming a distant dream.

Elvira grinned at the successful show, though didn't ease up her grip just yet. Chin resting on shoulder, cheek against cheek, a certain, squishy pressure made itself apparent against the captive's back. Nothing especially different, but perhaps a shock to the young, drunk novelist. "Mmmmmmh...~ Haaaaaaaad a nice drink?" She chimed with a smile, a giggle making itself apparent, ever so softly. The professor seemed to be getting comfortable in this postion of hers. Maybe a little too comfortable. Apparently not enough to sleep though. "Ahhh, this alcohol's rubbish... Maybe I'll take the vodka home..." She mumbled to herself, her breath brushing against Nat's wonderful skin, tainting it with the stench of rum.

Not that Sabine minded. As her hands roamed Natille's backside, they began to travel farther and farther away from the writer. She could feel Elvira's ample, plush thighs push against her knuckles with delightful springiness, but the intoxicated Elvira was far too obnoxious to join in...unless she had incentive.

A pair of hands pressed hard against the Slavic woman's thighs, kneading the supple flesh before inching higher and higher to ever more sensitive parts.

Her index and middle finger dampened as they scoured in the warm, intoxicated dark for a button.

And push a button they did, all while Sabine's oral embrace stole both breath and inhibition from the lovely little flower Natille.

It was a new sensation for a lady of physics, though not one she wasn't particularly fond of. Her mind instantly went to Newton's second law, as her body practically jolted from the touch, sending her ever-so-slightly backwards. Catching herself for the sake of Nat (the poor girl was sandwiched between Sabine and Elvira at this point), the professor soon found a steady rhythm, finding just enough strength within her to not lose control.

Things were really kicking in, though: the alcohol, the situation, the people. She'd hardly known these two perhaps little more than an hour (though she couldn't tell time with her mind so devoid of perception), though already Elvira could feel herself becoming... rather warm. Like the gentle warmth of nuclear radiation against the skin, she was starting to feel warm, but also nervous. Butterflies swarmed her gut like a wildfire, and the gentle twitching which accompanied her nervousness only made it the more apparent.

Yet, she was enjoying herself.

She was enjoying the moment...

... And was beginning to think it may very well last longer than a "moment"...

Nat was, simply put, lost. A barrage of sensations was hitting her, all over, as she was pressed between the Russian and Sabine in both a tender embrace and a much more sensual embrace, something she had never experienced before, not even in her wildest dreams, which was astonishing in itself considering her five year streak of wild dreams. For one thing, she had never kissed another woman. For another thing, she had been sandwiched in between two women. For yet another thing... the reasonable part of her mind that was still somehow awake now decided that it was no use trying to figure out what was new anymore and instead found it more profitable to discern which were the things in this situation that she had experienced before;

She had been drunk before.

...and that was it. Being totally honest with herself, she wasn't sure if she was enjoying it or feeling very uncomfortable with what was going on, not to mention that it was going on in public, but the fact that she wasn't fighting it seemed to give a possible idea of her feelings on the situation. Or perhaps that was just the alcohol? In any case, it was definitely a new experience and she was enjoying the fact that she was discovering something in itself. However, she was much less sure about the discovery itself. Nat was reminded of her enjoyment of new discoveries and activities, just for them being new, such as the time she attempted to make a mixture of whiskey, rum, wine, a cocktail mixture and Perrier, which had obvious consequences.

What was most shocking was how much her mind was drifting. Was she attempting to avoid thinking about the situation? Trying to forget that she was locked in a very deep kiss with Sabine and not exactly trying to escape? "Mmmph." was the answer she gave herself, for now. It wasn't like her ability to make coherent sentences was still functional anyway and it probably wouldn't be until she sobered up.

Where the hell were things going to go from there, she could only wonder. She was scared, worried, strangely turned on, even more peculiarly turned on and definitely, most certainly, going with the flow of the situation, as her senses were filled with an alcoholic warmth mingling with the warmth of the steamy scene.

After what felt like an uncomfortable eternity, Sabine finally pulled away from both of the women with heavy breaths. What unconscious squirming the two did make told her of the few critical inhibitions most others would have concerning the act.

Natille looked...adorable. The flower had taken a tinge of scarlet, thanks to the alcohol and lip-locking, and her eyes averted prolonged contact with Sabine's own. But as opposed to the floor, Natille was glancing off at the rest of the bar...and the bartender...the exit.

And it came back to her : the bar, the people, the alcohol. She hardly noticed them from the very beginning. Those drinks weren't going to pay themselves, so Sabine gave one more kiss as she snaked her companion's wallet out of her pocket. Out came a credit card, which in turn was handed to the bartender to swipe.

They'd figure out a way to pay, later. Sabine gave a hard kiss, this time, as she pushed the wallet into Natille's hands.

"Let's get out of here."

---

It was a steamy taxi ride that took the three girls back to the cafe, and after much drunken yelling on part of Elvira and a certain blyat at the wheel, Sabine had to go through the trouble of apologizing for one...or maybe three wet seats. She couldn't tell; her body felt coltish in spite of the haze of the alcohol, thanks to Elvira's own assistance with getting Natille and Sabine to unwind. But unravel they did, when it was time to go.

The turn of the key through the side door got the three blundering into the kitchen. In completely darkness, the redhead led the ladies on. One flight of stairs later got them into the bedroom kissing, groping, and nipping one another.

With a woman in each arm, Sabine fell onto the bed exhausted, out of breath, and quite charged. Even as she was panting, the relatively cooler air gave Sabine some time to go about this with more care.

Seeing how Natille was inexperienced with women and how Elvira was fumbling with her lab coat, the responsibility fell to Sabine to start.

With a groan, Sabine pulled herself up before turning around towards her pair of female companions. Mussed hair, bosoms breathing heavy, bitten lips, perky nips...

Conversely, the two would see Sabine's skin glow in the city's nightlights. Even with the curtains closed, it took no difficulty discerning her silhouette from the room's, and the crop top and boy shorts she wore did little to encourage imagination. Indeed, her parted lips panting and gleaming with viscous pleasure mirrored a soft, needy indent nestled between swaying hips. Fingers danced up and down cream-colored thighs and, with one final sigh, Sabine lunged forward to mark in the two women's minds that that was the moment Sabine was once more, if only for those few hours of lusty embrace, a lady of the night.