Triumph seemed unphased by the appearance of another naked body, moving back to the corner and curling up with a huff. Greg did a startlingly similar transition onto the couch, grabbing his own glass off the table, already half-full of a darker liquid.
"S'one on the table. I'd offer the guitar, but she's-" He glanced over at the pile of rubble that was once his first child, and sighed. "Try the throw on the back of the chair," He was flipping through the channels, looking for something to distract himself- the smallest unguided train of thought was taking him to places he didn't particularly want to be.