He was starting to feel nauseous and he wasn't sure if it was from drinking too fast, making an ass of himself in front of Lestrange, or nerves. In truth it was a good mixture of the three. "Yeah, lookin' forward to it," he called back hastily, starting to make a beeline for the door. He was going to go get drunk somewhere until he felt anyway but this. If he turned up hungover tomorrow then so be it, it wasn't like he stood a damn chance anyway.
Eyeing up this magnificent set eh? MJ sold her soul to Satan's graphic designer. I wish he'd take mine too.