firewhisky is an old friend. jinri met her fleetingly at ten and later, when she’s sixteen, ran into the comfort of her open arms. since then, she’s never been able to fully break off the relationship—never been able to settle on just one drink.
tonight hadn’t been any different.
but she supposes she’s some sort of worst under the influence of the devil’s liquor, that she doesn’t have a care for the world (and a knack to be especially destructive) when she’s like this—that choi jinri is more so likely to ruin herself and the people around her on a subconscious binge than not.
this much had been evident, yet the hufflepuff still doesn’t feel the burn of repercussions when she stumbles out of the room, borrowed crown on her head, fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle of firewhisky, and a loopy smile that hasn’t caught up to reality yet. things that she’s done, things that she hasn’t done.
though her stroll ceases once she spots him in the empty corridor, blinking (once, twice, thrice, and a few more times after) in surprise before making her way over. “vern!” jinri greets him cheerfully enough, stopping in front of the hufflepuff and leaning down to face level, hands pressed to her knees.
“what are you doing here, boy king? shouldn’t you be celebrating?”