Devon had to agree – it was nice to be held like that. It created a nicer feeling than anything the alcohol was doing so far, which was kind of a let down. She really wished she'd looked into that in advance – how long it was supposed to take to feel something after drinking and the like. So far all she felt was a bit ill from the coughing, and kind of tired (it was late after a long day of school) – definitely not happy or euphoric or tipsy or silly or wonderful, or any of the other things that she was promised she'd feel if she drank alcohol. She always thought the fun of drinking started when the bottle hit your lips, but so far she was not impressed.

“If it's natural, Teddy – if you knew something awful was bound to happen, why would you give it to me? I think that is a valid question,” she said softly, almost smugly. She wasn't angry – she was just trying to get a good little dig at Teddy and make him feel the slightest bit guilty to allow her to feel better. She didn't even need a reaction from him – she felt better just saying it... and from knowing he'd had a bad time at it, too. She sighed softly and then turned them around, walking back toward the cushions he'd set up for them.

“Are we just supposed to sit here and drink?” she asked him, realizing that, for all she knew, getting drunk could take hours. If this was all there was to getting drunk, she'd just about die – she'd been so excited, after all. “I wish I'd thought of something else we could do. This is a quaint little get together, I'll give you that, but I wish we'd planned more.” More than that, she was thinking that she was wasting this perfectly nice dress to sit on cushions and hack her lungs out, which she could have done while wearing anything. If she had any idea exactly what kind of activities Teddy had in mind, she would have wore something a little trickier to get out of.

With a soft, nearly inaudible sigh she reached for a bottle – the fire whiskey bottle. At this point, even if it burned, she wanted to go for what he'd called the 'good stuff'' – because if this whole night turned out pathetic and she never did anything like this again, she wanted to at least have had some of the good stuff in her. She raised the bottle to her lips and took a long but slow drink, feeling her innards slowly warming with the drink. Without the coughing and sputtering, the warmth actually felt pretty good. She could almost imagine her organs glowing a soft orangey-gold as the whiskey made contact, warming her like metal in a kiln. She had to catch her breath a bit after her long sip, but she was finally smiling, feeling a little more competent about all of this.