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Trying to do the portrait assignment at Tank's frat house had turned out to be exactly as bad an idea as Bay had thought it would be to start with. There turned out to be a party going on, and Tank shoved a cup of punch into her hands and told her to chill while he took care of ... whatever people trying to pledge a frat took care of.

So. She had punch. She chilled. She ran into an old friend from Kansas City, Mary Beth, and somehow that cup of punch kept getting tastier and tastier as they small-worlded at each other. And then Bay had a few more cups of punch, and then she decided to follow some guy named, um, ledge. Bluff. Cliff up to his room for beer.

Tank intervened, dragged her outside, all but held back her hair as she puked and sympathized as she moaned about not having a boyfriend. And then he loaded her into a cab and sent her back to the island.

Which was, Bay had to admit, surprisingly decent and not-cavemany of him.

She rested on her bed, moaning softly as she waited for the room to finish spinning. "Punch is baaaaaaad."

[OOC: Cracked door, open post.]
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October 2014

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