Drunken Chaos

Elara watched in slight disbelief as Amara poured herself yet another glass of wine, her fourth, to be precise. The normally sharp-tongued and sarcastic heiress was already starting to slur her words after glass number two, and by the third, she was well on her way to incoherence.

And now? Well, now Amara was just a mess.

Elara took a sip of her own drink, far more sober, as she raised an eyebrow at Amara, who was halfway through a nonsensical story about a "giant magical dog" that may or may not have been a hallucination.

"…And then I told it, 'No, you're not my mother! I don't care how fluffy you are!'" Amara babbled, waving her half-full glass around dangerously.

"Right," Elara said, biting back a laugh. "Sounds totally reasonable."

Amara blinked at her, trying to focus. "You don't… you don't get it, Elara. The dog was huge and—wait—are you laughing at me?"