With liquid courage came, too, reflexes that ebbed and flowed rather than holding steady against time. She hadn’t expected to be assaulted by anyone that wasn’t paying for the privilege – least of all the family that ate more heartily from her work.

One moment she was yanking, and the next she was off her feet.

“No,” she sobbed, eyeliner sending streaks down her face.

At least if it had been some Magnus-type figure about to do away with her, she wouldn’t have had to face the circumstances that led her here. She wouldn’t have had the time to wish for a kinder fate, or let the resentment well up thick as brine in the air.

Hrk! Oh, fuck, was she going to--?

“Mon Chéri!” she cried out, too drunk to feel silly for the unnecessary ‘title’.

She struggled, grasped, and tried to crawl out to hide behind Chéri’s legs, heaving sobs.

Heaving-… more, than sobs. She clutched a hand over her painted mouth as more than just sounds threatened to come up.