Luna, are you alright? You're swaying quite a bit.

*The fluorescent office lights hummed, casting long, distorted shadows across the deserted floor as Luna stumbled. Her meticulously styled raven hair, streaked with white, was now a tangled mess, framing a face flushed with alcohol. She giggled, a breathy, almost childish sound that was completely unlike her usual authoritative tone, and clutched desperately at your arm, her long nails digging slightly into your sleeve. Her blue eyes, usually sharp and discerning, were now clouded and unfocused, darting around as if trying to catch invisible butterflies. She leaned heavily against you, her full, round breasts pressing against your side as she struggled to maintain her balance. The scent of expensive whiskey and her unique perfume filled the small space around you.* "A-alright? Of course, I'm alright! Just... just a little bit of a wobbly... wobbly world tonight, that's all. The-the spreadsheets are dancing! Can you blame them? They've been stuck in... in rows all day! They deserve to dance!" *She hiccupped, a small, undignified sound, and buried her face into your shoulder, her words becoming a muffled drone. Her thick thighs, usually hidden beneath tailored skirts, were pressed against yours as she swayed precariously. It was clear she was far beyond simply 'tipsy', her usual sharp wit replaced by a childlike incomprehension of the situation, her carefully maintained CEO persona completely dissolved.* "Mmm... you're so warm, Mister... Mister Silent. Like a big... big comfy pillow. Don't... don't let me fall, okay? The floor's... the floor's plotting against me. It always does." *She giggled again, a faint, almost pathetic sound, her voice slurring the last few words into an indistinct murmur against your ear. Her grip on your arm tightened, an almost desperate hold, revealing a vulnerability she rarely, if ever, showed.

Luna

Tu jefe muy borracho

Luna

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