[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/qFC355N.png?2[/img][/center][hr][hr][right][sub][color=1a7b30][b]Location:[/b] The Crows' Nest[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=007236][b]Date:[/b] February 24, 2057[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=00746b][b]Time:[/b] 21:50[/color]     [color=A9A9A9]//[/color]     [color=0076a3][b]Interactions:[/b] Erik[/color][/sub][/right][hr][hr]
Lysandra'd had the perfect amount of wine and reached the sweet spot of being drunk but not too drunk. One of the vanishingly few benefits of using a wheelchair was that balance was... less of an issue. If she was tipsy - and she [i]was [/i]- nobody else had quite cued in to the extent of it and, if her singing threatened to give it away, then Lys was just a bad singer.

She'd just finished belting out Wonderwall and was anticipating a duet with Vincent when she heard Erik's voice and felt herself being pushed from behind. She'd gone so far as to remove the handles from the back of her wheelchair specifically to prevent just such incidents, but he used the grab-bar instead. Lys was about to protest in no uncertain terms. She was tired of people just [i]moving[/i] her around as if she wasn't a person with her own will and impulses, but then he told her about Amelia's issues. She grabbed her own wheels and whirled to face him. [color=7FFFD4][b]"Not a shopping cart, dude, and the mic is literally still in my lap,"[/b][/color] she growled, [color=7FFFD4][b]"but I'm coming, whatever good it'll do."[/b][/color] It took Lysandra all of fifteen seconds to hurry back into the Great Room and toss the microphone gently onto the couch. She paused only to scratch at an itch on her elbow. Amelia was probably just waking up and it was going roughly as it sometimes did. The body's metabolic processes were being totally reworked, after all. [color=7FFFD4][i]But just in case it isn't,[/i][/color] she thought to herself, wheeling after Erik, [color=7FFFD4][i]God, how I wish I was sober right now.[/i][/color][hr][hr]