(Another) Fragment: Drunk in Love

All hail Beyonce.

Sorry, irrelevent.

Cara stumbled into her apartment, banging the door shut and knocking over the umbrella stand. It made a terrific crash as it hit the floor. Cara put a finger to her lips and shushed it. She yanked off her black pumps- really a very impractical buy- and threw them into a corner, glaring at them when they clattered against the wall.

There is a door that joins her apartment to her neighbor's. For whatever reason. The landlord is fond of telling people tall tales involving pirates or robbers or spies, depending on his mood, but he doesn't know either.

A nice young man lives in the apartment adjacent to Cara's. A very nice, very handsome young man. He and Cara are great chums, although he finds her outlandish and alarmingly direct. He's the quiet type, you see. Talon is a professional athlete, and quite a good one, too. He's tall, dark, and sleekly muscled. Everyone wants him and he knows it. But he's not one for cockiness- oh no, not him. In fact, the extra attention makes him rather uncomfortable. And extra religious.

Only Cara can make him forget his reserve. They're great chums.

This door between their two apartments swings open. The light that floods in saves Cara the trouble of hunting down her own light switch. It was a lost cause in any case.

She stops and blinks owlishly at him.

"Cara?"

"Waaazzzup," Cara salutes him jauntily. Talon steps closer warily.

"Have you been drinking?"

"Yessir. Yes. I have. Yessir," her fingers tug at her hair. The last remaining pin falls out and her wobbling chignon collapses, spitting curls everywhere. They fall in a fragrant wave around her flushed face. Except where somebody got marinara sauce on it. That part's not too fragrant.

Cara teeters over to Talon and jabs a drunken finger into his chest. Twice. Too hard.

"I don't wanna hear about Jesus, kay?" she slurs. Talon frowns down at her. His hand fends off the one trying to drill a hole in his pectoral.

Cara looks up, quip ready, but falters when she sees his face. Don't get me wrong- it's a very nice face, only it currently wears a very strange expression.

"Are you very drunk?" Talon asks quietly.

"Maybe," Cara mutters, fixated with a spot on the linoleum.

"Huh."

"Judge me harder"-irritably-"I dare you."

Then Talon, who never did anything unexpected in his life, quite unexpectedly jerked her against his chest and kissed her roughly. His face was very red. He seemed defiant. Angry, even. Then he let her go.

They started at each other for a moment. Talon's face drained of color as Cara burst into uproarious laughter.

"What's so funny?" he grumbled, suddenly terrified she'd remember in the morning. His face is red again. Cara wraps her arms around him and patronizingly pats his cheek. She's still laughing fit to kill.

"What?"

Cara puts her face near his, her lips inches from his ear.

"I'm not drunk," she whispers.

Talon was choked into silence. Understandable, as he was busy inventing new shades of red for his face to turn.