“Okay, so how many different types of drunks are there?” Nikolas asked from the floor of Henna’s living room. He took off his silver headband and rubbed his eyes. Then he put it back on without disturbing his bangs, which he had parted neatly that day instead of letting it fall messily across his face. Leonard and Monty were watching Pirates of the Caribbean while Henna and Burnett, who was home for once, were trying to give Moonshine a bath because she somehow had gotten covered in mud.
“I don’t know,” Adelaide from her position on the couch, where her feet were propped in Monty’s lap. “I’ll name them, you count. Happy drunk.”
Nikolas held up a finger.
“Clingy drunk.” Another finger. “Depressed drunk. Loud drunk. Comatose drunk. Drunk drunk.”
“That doesn’t count,” Monty contested. “Drunk drunks are already drunk.”
“What about drunks who can’t stop drinking?” Leonard asked. “That counts.”
“Vomiting drunk,” Nikolas contributed, sticking up another finger in addition to the five he already had up. “I’m running out of fingers.”
“I resent that,” Henna said, coming in, looking like she had jumped into the bath herself. Her skirt and hair clung wetly to her body. “Moonshine thrashes more than a fish,” she muttered, hunting for tea towels.
“They’re in the bottom drawer in the kitchen,” Leonard told her.
“Thanks, Lenny.” She trudged into the kitchen. “You forgot angry drunk and slutty drunk.”
The little group fell silent for a few minutes. Adelaide thought for a few minutes. “So when you’re drunk, you sort of lose all your inhibitions, right? So then your true self comes out. What do you think I would be?”
“Happy drunk,” came the unanimous reply. Minutes later, Burnett trudged in, soaking wet.
“Moonshine is the devil when it comes to baths,” he grumbled, shaking his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “If you don’t want to take a bath, don’t get messy—it’s that easy,” he muttered half to himself, half to the room at large. He trudged into the kitchen.