Emerson was seated in the large chair behind his father's desk, feet up with a book in one hand and a bottle of scotch in the other. There were two glasses on the desk, but the bottle was safely in his own hands. He imagined the kid was going to lose his shit, but there was something off about the circumstances of the weather. Tapped into the natural energies of the world around him as he was, it hadn't taken Emerson long to figure that out. As annoying as it was, he didn't want Lucien off running around town caught up in all that shit.
"Well, maybe if you stopped acting like such a little shit..." the witch's voice trailed off. "Key words there being that the liquor is just that. Mine. You think you have some kinda right to my booze? And here I was actually going to share this scotch with you." He heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Oh well."