ᴛʜᴇ ғᴀᴜʟᴛ ɪɴ ᴏᴜʀ ғᴏʀᴜᴍʟᴀ | sʟᴜɢ-ᴅᴇsᴜ
It is for the third time that she is soaked by a wayward beer, that she decides that there are hundreds of places she would rather be. Each and every single one of them as far away from the gyrating, horny eighteen to twenty somethings who were making the most of a friday night. She laughs politely to a joke she hasn’t quite caught, and finally manages to wrangle her way out of an arm slung heavily over her shoulder by a too-drunk frat boy who spends more time whispering sweet nothings to her chest above all else. Tsunade likes to think that he’s hitting on Darth Vader, and that is fine with her. Patience has never been a strong point of hers, and now, when faced with sheer drunken idiocy, she is quick to realise that it certainly hasn’t improved, soon proven by the shoving of whoever had just grabbed one of her breasts.
` i’m nowhere near drunk enough for this, `
she muses silently, and reaches for an empty cup and the keg that rests to her right and prays that soon this night will be over and she can roll into her bed, preferably alone and unpestered to sleep away the rapidly approaching migraine that is beginning to throb mercilessly behind her right eye. Scarlet cup is soon raised to her lips, and she is quick to take a large slurp of beer. Alone at last, perhaps no one would notice if she made herself scarce——…
You seem to be enjoying yourself, Tsunade-hime.
Or not. Flaxen crown tilts, and eyes of russet betray just a hint of irritation, not in his sudden materialiation at her side, but it is soon dispelled upon catching a glance at his shirt. They were wearing the same damned shirt, and both emblazoned with the words “I am your father”. A good taste in novels which might be something they have in common. While a figure commonly associated with movies, there is a good chance that there would be something to tak about besides her chest and her temper. Tsunade leans, lower back pressing against the edge of the wobbly table spread with liquor.
` I think one of us is going to have to go home and change, `
she jokes weakly, before her head shakes and gaze diverts to the sweaty, drunk and horny crowd in front of them, just in time to see a girl vomit on someones trainers. Lovely.
` I think I’d have more fun in algebra than I would here.
Only so much idiocy I can handle. `
A smile, belittling in nature, spread his lips thin-ah so there was a common link between them, trivial but existent. Fingers plucked at the fabric of his shirt, stretching out and creating a gentle line of wrinkles. I am your father. She was more than just the average pretty face, Tsunade also held a more interesting taste in literature. His tongue clicked, disapproving. He was certain it had been given as a gift; no more, no less. Someone like her couldn’t possibly be interested in that sort of thing; unless she wasn’t who he thought her to be. Stereotypes were a cruel phenomena, both interesting and a disappointment. His head jerked, from her to the pulsating crowd of drunken peers. It was pathetic really.
“By ‘us’ I hope you mean yourself. It looks better on me anyways.”
He gave a rasping laugh, though without the intent of being mutually humorous. A tongue flickered out, quick, wetting lips. And again, they shared something else-a similar outtake on current festivities. Orochimaru was quick to step to the side as a heavier built male drew near for a drink-already, he reeked of alcohol. Orochimaru cast an irritated glare before once more settling his attention on prettier company. His arms folded, crossing his chest. The nights unraveling events were proving to be of better quality than previously suspected. He itched to get beneath her skin-figuratively; she was more than a nuisance, always contradicting him during labs. Two peers of gifted intelligence at odds in their work.
“I’ll admit my surprise. I would have thought an event such as this would be right up your ally. You’ve proven me wrong; it seems to be quite the habit of yours.”
It came off hardened by bitter memory. Yet he could not entirely fault her; he’d be lying if he said he didn’t occasionally enjoy their spats. The way her features scrunched when cursing his name, cursing him, was sensational. Orochimaru lifted the plastic cup to his mouth, taking a slow swig. The only way he could survive the evening was by drinking away the memory of it. He wasn’t very fond of fraternities, but he had been dragged along without a choice-Jiraiya was stronger than he, regrettably. At least in the physical sense. Orochimaru let out a hissing sigh, not quite mocking. A song, faster in tempo blared out causing him to lift his voice.
"If you’re so unhappy then why come in the first place?"