Tas and Anna
Beer and cookies were absolutely the way to go. That was Anna's plan, anyway. She was hovering around the table, too, trying to dig through the variety of cookies for the good ones without touching the bad ones. Because, obviously, if you touched it, you had to take it. She had a cider, though, not a beer. And she'd had a few--it was obvious in the way her eyes were half lidded, her stance was a little sloppy, her grin spread across her face like a paint spill.
She turned to see who was there with her and brightened considerably. "Tas! Hey!" Cookies forgotten, Anna moved over to hug the young man. It might have been more like a tackle. But considering Anna weighed about twenty pounds soaking wet and with rolls of quarters in her pockets, it probably wasn't much of a tackle.