Champagne for My Real Friends, Real Pain for My Sham Friends

The lead-up to the Gossamer Gala was a bit intense for Ivan and Chanti. Due to the circumstances of Chanti’s invite and Ivan’s general hesitance to go, neither of them had procured outfits in advance. But once his attendance was assured, Chanti immediately ran out and got himself an outfit that he thought suited him- and wasn’t too hard on the wallet either. The Western-inspired outfit probably wasn’t exactly what Angora was envisioning when coming up with the Gala’s dress code, but Chanti made sure it was altered appropriately to at least somewhat match the theme. It even has neat spurs! Everyone loves spurs.

Finally, the night arrives, and both of them arrive dressed to the nines. Once they get to the Gala, Chanti insists on a dance. Ivan nods, seeming to understand his partner’s intent. They both know what happens when Chanti is given free reign to imbibe nonstop.

Both in their doll forms, the pair takes to the dancefloor. Here, Chanti is able to show his dance skills, his fast and energetic movements somewhat overshadowing Ivan, who is having a hard time catching up. When Chanti notices this, he slows down and holds Ivan closer. This seems to help Ivan relax and the pair both enjoy the last steps of their dance.

Chanti catches Ivan’s eye after their dance finishes, silently asking his permission to slink off to the drinks table. Ivan rolls his eyes and shrugs in a “Can I really stop you?” kind of way and goes off to chitchat with an artist colleague that he noticed in a nearby lounge.

Left to his own devices, Chanti double-fists some champagne flutes and finds a lively conversation to butt in on. Everyone is a bit loosened up by now and the conversation seems to be as free-flowing as the booze, and Chanti the social butterfly is thriving. He joyously engages in topics of conversation he had never heard of until just then, but effortlessly keeps the chatter going while the wine levels in his glasses steadily drops.

At a certain point, things become… a bit of a blur. The yellow bun vaguely remembers grabbing flutes from passing servers a couple more times. Two more times? Surely no more than three. In reality, it was about eight times. Even in his booze-addled mind, he’s starting to sense that the conversations aren’t going as smoothly as before. Other attendees are noticing his slurred words and look on with mild concern as they turn away to avoid him.

As a dark tunnel begins to close in on his vision, Chanti feels afraid. Ivan… Where’s Ivan? He staggers, whirling around to find his boyfriend. There’s a flash of panic in his chest when he realizes that he can’t quite remember what Ivan was wearing. He staggers again, near toppling over, until a strong hand catches his upper arm. The voice is warm and sounds concerned.

“Chanti? Are you okay? I haven’t seen you in hours!” There’s a pause. “How much did you drink?”

“Ivan!!!” Chanti gushes and he throws his arms around his boyfriend. “Ah’m sho… glad ta shee you!” Although the dark tunnel threatens to swallow him, Chanti is jubilant at finding Ivan again and begins to drag him to the dance floor. Ivan, seeing where this is going, tries to hold firm and not move. Chanti begins to put more of his weight into dragging Ivan forward, but his clammy hands slip and he loses his grip.

The yellow bun’s tall doll form wobbles and sways, one of his spurs catching on another guest’s dress, pulling them off balance with him. The calamitous crash culminates with Chanti falling face first onto an unfortunate server, dragging a yard’s length of silk with him. After that, the darkness swallows him and he remembers nothing more.

After the impact, a large portion of the Gala surrounding the incident falls silent, except for the pained moans of the server and the screams of outrage from the guest with the torn dress. Ivan too was stunned for a moment and he waits to see if Chanti will pick himself back up. When no movement comes from the prone man, Ivan scoops him up and tries to carry him someplace quiet, fearing that Chanti had been seriously injured in the fall.

It takes about half an hour of fanning Chanti with his own hat for him to come to. When he does, he’s still pretty confused. He asks Ivan what happened and why they’re sitting outside.

“Oh, um… you fell. So I took you outside for some fresh air.”

“Well, that explains why mah face hurts so much.” Ivan chooses to remain silent about the large shiner on Chanti’s cheek. “But why am ah so sticky?”

“I think you, uh… spilled some champagne on yourself when you fell.”

“Damn, that’s a shame. Angora serves the best stuff at the Gala. …Well, it’s probably for the best that ah didn’t drink it. Ah have a killer headache.”

“Yeah,” Ivan agrees quietly. The two quietly chat in solitude while Chanti recovers enough to make the walk back home. Ivan chooses not to share the details of what exactly happened that night. It would only make Chanti upset. 

This lasts about as long as the next morning, when all of the tabloids in Burrowgatory are reporting on the tumble the previous night. Chanti lets his breakfast grow cold, eyes frozen on a headline reading “FASHION-CHALLENGED BOOB EATS SHIT AT GOSSAMER GALA!”

(913 words)