Bathrobe blues

[bornagoddess]

Sif was drunk. Terribly, terribly drunk. Or rather, what Midgardians would count as terribly drunk. For her, for her people, she was only mildly impaired. It was nothing. It was her way to cope with the whole gender shifting thing. She had been here for hours, enough that she was on her second whiskey bottle - and Loki was no longer anywhere to be found. He did that. He enjoyed disappearing when one was too drunk to be of use in intelligent conversation. In any case, she had ended up getting too drunk to follow him to his room and claim the trousers he had promised to lend her for the duration of whatever trick this was. She was getting used to the bathrobe, despite how indiscreet it was. It was quite comfortable in terms of air circulation and room. And she could always sort the pants thing out later. Yes, later. Always later.

Swaying slightly, Sif poured another fifth of whiskey into her glass, noticing it was the very last of the bottle. She looked up wistfully. "I'm out," She whined, pouting as only drunken people who'd ran out of drink did. Catching the eye of a barmaid she had not yet met, Sif gave her a lazy smile. "I tire of whiskey, what do you recommend?"