With a buzzing feeling spreading throughout her fingertips, Mabel followed him close behind, all the while her eyes surveying his back. Perhaps it was the liquor affecting her — the world did seem to be a bit brighter, didn't it? — but had Dory always seemed this...confident? Sure-footed? As they walked through the yard, Mabel's gaze slid down to rest on the back of his hand. Immediately she was reminded of how firm his grip had been when he pulled her away from the rubble of the Valentine's Day wreckage. He hadn't let her go storming into a collapsing building then; so surely if she were to be uneasy on a broom he'd be able to keep a hold on her?

She'd just come to the resolution that everything would be fine as long as she held onto him, when she was pulled back to the present and found Dory in front of her motioning for her to get on the broom...in the front. "What?" Her voice came out as a raspy squeak, as if she'd just downed another glass of whiskey. "In front?" Her hands waved nonsensically in front of her as she began to back away slowly. "I really shouldn't be in front, I don't know how to steer!" Surely this was madness.

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