Lion Head Mesa thirty-seventh

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It was now that the unsanctioned anger began to twist at her stomach. Other things to imbibe? What, are you gonna get me drunk and then capture me and make me a prostitute?
She says this not in words, but the frown that presses at her lips is apparent. I appreciate it, but I'm-- I'm good, thanks.
Akavir has resolved to just interviewing this fellow, and Wren has no idea what they're even talking about at this point. Some other pack she had next to no knowledge of, if any. Strange ways of life, arrangements. Political-speak. Ugh, why are dudes so boring? So you mean to say that Lilitu married into Akashingo, by way of, um-- s'cuse me-- Charles, for political brownie points, and then she... left? She felt that an inoffensive enough inquiry, tone light and yet husky with her ever-increasing inebriation, that same toothy smile forced onto her face. Sorry, I'm just, uh, trying to understand. We're a little outta place here. Lotta unfamiliar jargon.
As much as she tried to remain coherent, the soothing touch of Akavir's lips to the top of her head is more than enough to distract her. As if she had relapsed into estrus, she finds her body wanting to lurch toward it, begging for more of that touch.
And just as quickly, she is overcome with the urge to leave. Oh, God, she's being annoying, isn't she? She isn't helping at all! She's horny and she feels so weird and she's making no sense, and this schmuck probably thinks she's a freak, and Akavir's gonna hate her, and—
No, she is not a coward. Alright, you drunk piece of shit, be less drunk.
Maybe if she just sits really still, it'll go away.