Talk:Satyros/@comment-5426290-20160121113254/@comment-25725102-20160215005835

I scoff in humor at the idea. Patting her on her drunk-as-a-skunk head, I decline.

"While I won't deny, this brewery has some rather fine legs, I can't take advantage of this; that's how fights among roomates start. Why don't ya sober up first, then we'll discuss what we can do with each other, yeah?"

With that I start to relax and drift to sleep, ignoring my roomie's disappointed mutters. I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke, I was met with a strong smell of booze--stronger than earlier--and a familar pair of thighs wrapped around my head. I then hear my definitely-not-sober roomie:

"You didn't think I'd just let ya get away with that line, did ya? These "rather fine legs" got ya feeling some kinda way now, right? How 'bout it? Dontcha just wanna 'die' b'tween my thighs~?"