By nature, Octavius wasn't much of a drinker. He had a reasonable tolerance for a man of his stature, but he had no inclination toward insobriety, so he didn't exercise it much. And after the trip to Germany, where he'd not only been lost in a foreign country where he did not speak the language for roughly twenty-four hours, but also got married and adopted a goat, not to mention being hung over for days afterward, he rather thought never to pick up an alcoholic beverage again in his life.
Until tonight, of course. Individually, the potential for a scene with his best friend (though they were at a shaky truce), a crowd of people ranging from unknown to fairly close acquaintances (perhaps even friends), and facing the prospect of a new year alone had driven him to imbibe. A modest amount, he had thought, but a little bump from Rose shouldn't have had his head still spinning. Octavius hadn't even removed his hands from her shoulders yet, and when he'd finally taken his eyes off the top of her head, he got his first good look at her of the night, unobscured by the milling people or overly-close proximity. And he was struck. He even thought, abashedly, somewhere in the corner of his mind, that his jaw dropped. Was this inappropriate? It probably was. Still couldn't help himself, though. He just tried not to be lecherous while doing so. Maybe not very hard. Gracious, was the room still spinning a bit? Maybe he was he drunk?
"Blimey," Octavius breathed, his gaze slowly falling from her now-brown hair to the shining gold of her outfit, then the lean silhouette of her leg, "you look sensational."
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