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Your name is Roxy Lalonde, you are eighteen years old, and you’re quite surprised you’ve still got your original liver.
You’ve decided to start college, a bit influenced by the prospect of stupid drunken parties. You have also decided to dabble into astronomy and computer science, because there was no major for wizarding. Alas.
Jake still lived on an island and your bffsie Jane was attending a premiere culinary school to prepare to be the next Betty Crocker. That left Dirk, the only sensible friend you had, who you decided definitely needed to go to college with you. The two of you would take college by storm and it would be glorious.
He just grunted and mumbled something about how he was always babysitting you. You found this answer to be a rousing success, because it wasn't no.
This led, of course, to the eventual drunken party, which led to you in the passenger seat of Dirk's car. He was a notoriously careless driver and you were notoriously irritating in a car. According to others, anyway. You liked to think you just spent your time wisely.
"Roxy, fucking tell me why your legs are peddling against my roof like you think you can bike out into space. Riddle me that."
"Duuuurr, you uncouth swiiine, it is called pilates. And it is so my booty-ous plush rump stays that way."
You continued to press your legs onto the roof of the car, your seat pushed flat down. Aw yeah. That was a nice stretch.
"Break anything here, you mercurial boozehound, it'll be that rump that's paying for it."
You whined at his boorish attitude and draped yourself obnoxiously over his shoulders. "Dirk."
He kept silent, watching the road and concentrating on steering.
"Dirk. Diiiiiirk!"
"Rox, what in hell's bells are you trying to achieve by trying to distract me from driving."
"Ok first of all," you said, lazily leaning back onto your seat, "you are a piss poor driver anyways. It is like maths percentage chance that you will always be a shitty driver and you should totes come to accept that."
"Don't have the foggiest what you're on about." He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms. You started to cackle as he began driving with his knees. If you were any less hammered, you might have been worried about yours and his safety, but you had a few pre-cocktail-party cocktails to ease your mind.
"I am so beaming with pride right now, by the way," you said, crawling back into the back seat. Much cozier. You were ruining your hair, but paired with your alluring bedroom eyes, the tousled look could work for you. "Like and here I thought you'd think this kind of like straight up dumb frat boy party shit would be lame."
"Man, Rox, you are wounding me on all kinds of accounts. Y'all are just piercing my heart in an callous disregard for my feelings. By y'all I mean you and yourself," he said, grabbing the wheel again and narrowly swerving away from incoming traffic. "Egregious behavior from someone I thought was a tight friend. As fate would have it, I am all about shitty parties."
"I just like," you began, tracing Dirk's tattoo, "your shitty and trashy wifebeater. Like I am all about rolling around laughing at it."
"Say what you want, but you're sitting there admiring the guns and my ink. Admit it."
"Dude, you have one of your weird ass horse books back here," you said, snickering to yourself as you opened it. It was, of course, in disrepair, what with Dirk's modifications and 'improvements' to the text. "Why do you even have this under the seat? Like you get your self-lovin' on back here?"
"You're basically implying I beat the Strider meat to children's books," he commented dryly.
"Ah my gosh, you totally probably do. Get Chris Hansen up in here."
He just ignored you after a while, which you le signed at. So you spent the rest of the ride building off of Dirk's 'improvements' in his horse book.
--
"Rox you have ruined my masterpiece."
All right, you know you were perpetually a bit on the buzzed side, but you had to admit, you were kind of three hundred percent wasted now after that party. Like wasted was so perfect for you, you had about twelve honeymoons and renewed your vows on each romantic getaway. And Dirk was there and your maid of honor at each one, because him and wasted were also now pretty damn tight.
The wasted man in question had given up on driving completely-- not that it was a big deal, considering his high tech car was completely successfully autonomous on co-pilot. (You still didn't know why Dirk drove in the first place when he could have his robotic car do it for him. Probably a misguided attempt on actually being able to drive well.)
Meanwhile, you cackled uproariously. "No, I made it better. This fucking horse. Fucking cat ears on its butt now. Ahahahaa!"
"You fucking bitch. I had...had it completely perfectly shitty." Dirk groaned and leaned back on his seat. "Like. I love it and all. But there was a precise method to my shittiness. Now I have to incorporate fucking cats."
You snuggled onto his lap. "That one fucking guy in the red shirt. So hot."
"Dear god, Roxy, your taste is as embarrassingly distasteful as it is all-encompassing."
"Wow, rude!!" You crossed your arms, glaring up at him. "You're just mad. Cuz I was fucking swagging it up."
"I don't even know how to respond to swagging it up. That phrase is as embarrassingly shitty as it is motherfucking hysterical."
Dirk was a pretty interesting guy, but you got bored easily of chatting and he was insistent on you going home with him that night. Teasingly, you cupped the crotch of his pants. "We should tooootally have fun, cockblocker. Coulda had fun tonight, but noooo, you had to have me home."
"Wouldn't do that if I were you, Rox. Friendly warning." He glanced at you, pointing his head down a bit so you could see his eyes staring at you. He gave an almost undetectable smirk. "Don't think you'll be able to handle what's down there."
"Th' fuck are you talkin' about," you said, slurring a bit, as you clumsily messed with his pants. He just let you, shoulders shaking a bit in held back laughter. You really had no idea what was so funny and Jesus Christ a bunch of smuppets just fell out of his pants, that scared the crap out of you so much you spilled your martini.
"Fuckin' A." Dirk was laughing maliciously at your misfortune, the prick.
"You ass," you said, sighing as you sadly regarded the stain on Dirk's car floor. "Made me spill my drink."
--
Although also drunk, Dirk was still more capable than you at holding his liquor. Whereas he only stumbled a bit after exiting his car, he was able to compose himself nearly immediately. He hid inebriation well.
You sprawled out on the sidewalk pretty much the second you stepped out of the car, face buried in the gravel. He snickered and you flipped him off from the ground.
"And you wanted to go to another guy's house? You'd be a mess." He crouched down by you and extended a hand. You gave him a high five, not even looking up from the sidewalk.
"Carry meeee," you whined. He shrugged and picked you up, upside down of course. You kicked at his shoulders and laughed hysterically. "Oh my god, you dick, pick me up right!!"
Dirk snickered again but relented, carrying you piggy back style. "There. Better?"
"Can I sleep at your dorm toniiight?" you asked sweetly, snuggling into his shoulder.
"Why, so I can hold your hair back when you're puking later?"
"Ugh, noooo, because you loooove me." You nuzzled the side of his neck, and he sighed again.
"Suppose so." You cheered internally as he brought you into his dorm building, the security guards raising an eyebrow as you walked by them.
When the two of you reached his dorm, he gracelessly dropped you onto his bed, and you whined and glared at him. "S'no way to treat a lady," you mumbled, before turning over and passing out.
Dirk rolled his eyes, laying some blankets over you. "Sleep tight, Rox."