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One the surface and to strangers, he was fine, but Marinette knew better. Jason’s comebacks were being shot back slower, his eyes are dropping just a touch, and he was talking a bit more than normal. Marinette smiled already knowing she won.
“How many shots are you at Jason?”
“Ummm… I lost track after eighteen I think,” He said, throwing another one back. “Why how many are you at?”
“Twenty-four,” She said, also throwing one back. “Twenty-five.”
“Seriously, how are you still alive?”
She just shrugs and calls for their tab. “Wanna call us a cab?”
“Y.. yeah I’m going outside, too loud in here,” he said, standing, well attempting to stand.
She shakes her head, places a couple of bills on the bar before wrapping an arm around Jason so he wouldn’t fall.
The cab arrives, and Jason passes out in the back seat. Marinette struggles to help him to the manor, she drops him in the living room and leaves a cup of water, a sandwich, and ibuprofen on the table, before proceeding to pass out in a guest room.
When she comes downstairs for breakfast the next morning Jason looks dead. “How the heck are you fine?”
“What do you mean?”
“You had twenty-five shots,” Jason screams while rubbing his temples. She shrugs and hugs Damian.
“You had twenty-five shots?” Damian asks. “You guys aren’t allowed to go drinking by yourselves anymore.”
“That’s not fair,” Marinette pouts.
“It’s fine because I’m never doing shots with you ever again.”