Cham-Pain

There's just something novel and comforting about it: Sitting in front of your computer with a crisp, cold beer to enjoy with your new video game with. The lights dimmed low so you can get that full blast of blue light pleasingly burning your retinas out. The air is hot, perhaps only a fan to keep you cool. Not a soul in sight to interrupt this private moment.

A scenario that couldn't be more drastically different than the one Peepee found herself in now. A ballroom so spacious with an ocean of gold and purple drowning its inhabitants in a sparkling glow. A crystal glass, clenched nervously between sweaty hands, that was so far out of her tax bracket it felt sacrilidgeous to the touch. Not to mention the sparkling, golden elixir that reflected her scrunched face as she peered down into it.

It felt as if the bubbles quickly floating from the bottom beckoned her to take a sip, each pop coaxing her like a sweet smile. She wanted to give in, but the grandeur of it all made the imaginary gesture seem more malicious than inviting.

The nerves swell in her stomach and chest. It is but a simple drink, yet the circumstances make it feel like the ultimate sin to partake -- ironic, considering their species had sin woven into the very thread of their existence. She cannot remember when she came here and how the glass got in her hand, the dimensions of time melt away as anxiety walls her into her own mind.

"---Excuse me."

And like the bubbles that greedily jump from the champagne glass, Peepee's personal bubble of worry pops. Reality twists back into her vision, a headrush of emotion. The gold. The purple. The ballroom. The champagne. Oh, yes. What was I doing...? The look of confusion on another bun's face who is clearly trying to make their way to the table, but there is a blue-haired freak who has been standing there far too long without blinking.

Peepee immediately goes into flight-mode, stuttering apologies. Her hands quiver as she locates the best course of action. No words, no thoughts - she downs the drink and runs, quickly as one could through a floor littered with dancing drunks. Finally, after much shoving and "sorry"s, Peepee comes to a small clearing near a window and houseplant. Her heart races, weak from the double trouble social anxiety and running wombo combo. She places a hand on the wall to catch her breath, and the wall gives way -- rather, her hand clumsily slips to the side and smacks into the poor plant that has done no one wrong. The entire world spins like a carasoul and doesn't stop.

"----Ah...."

Ah, that hit quickly. She has never been a heavy-weight drinker, but this was something else. It must be what quality alcohol feels like instead of that cheap six-pack sitting on your dirty floor.

Peepee cranes back her neck, her skull feeling too heavy for her neck all of the sudden. But she doesn't care, for a warmth blooms through her body and numbs her mind from worry. The ceiling closes in despite still being so high up. The walls, so intimidatingly beautiful, dance around her as if to celebrate this new state of inebriation. Best of all yet -- suddenly, everyone is her friend. Yes, she decided, it's just the obvious truth. For what reason was sh so nervous before? This is great...

"Ah~"

A contented sigh decompresses her body and floats upward from half-smiling lips. How wonderful it is to walk through this dizzy dream, not a care knocking away at her skull. Now, perhaps it is time to actually, finally, enjoy the night.