Well this sucked, Thomas thought to himself as he stared at Rufus’ bed. He had plans to bro out with his bro number uno. The chaser’s head turned to the bottle of whiskey in his hand before turning back to Bixby’s bed and once again back to the bottle. How could he bro out when there was no bro to bro with? It was a catastrophe, truly.

Deciding, however he’d actually much rather enjoy his whiskey than go out searching for Rufus to find out exactly what was more important than getting drunk, Thomas pulled off the shirt he’d been wearing for the day and slumped into one of the small wooden chairs in the room. He took another swig (of several) of the whiskey and stared at the wall, glaring at it almost.

“You want some?” He asked the wall, tipping the bottle forward slightly before pulling it back almost defensively, “Well tough, ‘cause you’re a wall and can’t drink.” he nodded.

He’d been drinking for a short while already and, really, as depressing as this was – he was in his own little world enjoying himself. He had his quill and parchment sprawled out on his writing desk though hadn’t gotten far with his letters. Mostly because he didn’t know who he was writing to. He just had the urge to write to someone.

Taking another big swig of the drink, Thomas snapped his head to the knock on the door. He stood up briskly and without a top on and opened the door, “Ay, you’ve come back, Bix-“ He looked up to see her. The one he’d caught making out with his bro.

“Miss Locksmith!” He hailed, throwing his arms in the air (which, unfortunately, caused a little bit of whiskey to jump from the bottle), “You ain’t makin’ out with me too. I’m taken…” He hiccuped, “Kind of.”

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