|jayjustin (jayjustin) wrote in eighth_rpg,|
@ 2011-03-30 18:54:00
|Entry tags:||justin finch-fletchley, megan jones|
Who: Justin Finch-Fletchley and Megan Jones
What: Justin gets intoxicated. Megan does not.
Where: Their flat.
When: Late or very early.
It had been Stan’s idea. Something about Justin looking terrible and scaring all the customers away, something about Justin just needing a drink. Justin had declined at first, he wasn’t one to drink with Stan, especially when Stan was well -- Stan. But, Justin’s no had just been interpreted as a yes anyway, because apparently Justin didn’t have a choice in the matter.
Justin could already smell the alcohol when they entered the club. Justin’s wasn’t even aware it was that late, but it was and Stan used it as an excuse to pour more alcohol down Justin’s throat. It wasn’t long after that till Justin was the one doing the pouring, his shirt getting a few shots on it. By the end of their -- well Justin had certainly lost count; so much for his skills in Arthimancy, Justin was dragged away to dance, even despite his protests that he could out-dance anyone in the club and they would look like they were just in poor form next to him. Justin wasn’t really the best dancer though. Stan had been the first one to come up and interrupt him from; what Justin would only describe as his best line ever (he could make magic with his hands) and remind him they still had to hit up this other club. Justin was too drunk to really care by then and with a shrug of his shoulders walked out of the club after Stan.
“Stan?” Apparently no one had seen him, or more like -- no one even knew him, but Justin wasn’t aware he had walked out the wrong door. He found his way into a taxi cab and muttered the word ‘home.’ An address must have been provided as well, because the taxi managed to drop him off in front of a fancy looking apartment building and not a gutter. Justin was nothing, but relieved. He walked/tripped his way up to the door and decided knocking usually got you into places when you didn’t have a key on you.
He turned around when someone yelled out, 'shut up.' Rude. It wasn’t like he even lived here.