Adrian just wants to finish his cash flow reports. (adpucey) wrote in allswell,
His fear for his expensive rug heightened, Adrian hastened over toward the spill site -- accidentally bumping into his end table on the way, but still without complete accident. He dropped the first towel over the spill itself, then laid out the second as a barrier between it and the rug. Satisfied that it wouldn't get through, he resigned himself back to his chair. Or tried. Stew had already claimed it for himself during the confusion. He pouted: partly because moving around had made him dizzy, and partly because, in his state, he'd misinterpreted and assumed the younger man was legitimately offended. "Why would I keep calling you back here if I didn't even want you? Just seems counterproductive," he reasoned.
He briefly considered just dumping himself into Stew's lap, but thought better of it, leaning heavily against the armrest for support instead. Lucky for him the alcohol had impaired his motor skills more than his usually very careful judgement. Even if he wanted to be an affectionate drunk (and sometimes, he did), he wasn't about to let it mess up this thing he'd tentatively started with Stew. "Wasn't about you," he clarified, then stopped, unsure of really how to explain the mess he'd gotten in. "It's just, Marietta..."
And here he stopped, eyeing the leatherbound journal out of the corner of his eye. He pushed away from the chair, slowly, then made a grab for it, riffling through his prior entries before he finally found the private conversation that had sparked the unplanned drinking venture. "See? Read that," he ordered, dropping the journal into his lap.