Work Text:
“I’m bored.”
Agustín heard his best friend’s voice and looked up from his book. Pepa sat beside him, twisting her hands as a devious smile crept across her face.
She was plotting something and he didn’t know whether to be intrigued or terrified.
Pepa plans either ended very well or horrifically with no inbetween.
“Okay? And that concerns me how?”
“Play a game with me! I’ll be your best friend!”
Agustín groaned, playfully.
Pepa was fun. Fun to chat to and admittedly, even fun to play games with.
That was, until she lost.
She was extremely competitive and she could never seem to accept the fact that she couldn’t win all the time.
Losing normally resulted in thundering, rain and the game in question being kicked across the room and Pepa screaming obscenities, and accusing everyone else of cheating.
And then a few minutes later, she would come back after having calmed down, all smiles and asking to play another game.
Agustín loved Pepa, but one had to be in the mood to deal with the aftermath of Pepa losing a game.
“Why does me being your best friend involve me doing everything I don’t want to do?”
However, he put down his book.
“What game do you want to play?” He asked her.
“Uno! I’ll go and get it!” Pepa ran off, without giving Agustín a chance to protest.
Uno it was, then.
-x-
“You know what would make this even more interesting?” Pepa grinned as she placed the cards on the table.
“I dread to think, but go on.” Agustín replied, slowly and cautiously.
“Alcohol!”
“Pepa, you’ve just quit breastfeeding, and you haven’t had a drink in almost three years.”
It was true.
Pepa had given birth to Camilo two years ago, plus nine months to accommodate the pregnancy; it had been almost three years.
Camilo had been very hard to wean, using Pepa’s breast milk as a comfort more than nourishment after turning one, but he was her second and last baby.
Pepa knew it. Another child definitely wasn’t going to happen, not after Camilo’s traumatic birth.
So, she had wanted to keep him close a little longer.
Quitting breastfeeding had been hard for both her and Camilo, but now it was done, she was relieved.
And it meant she could drink again!
“Don’t be such a baby! My tolerance is fine! It’s yours you should be worried about.”
Agustín sighed in defeat.
His tolerance wasn’t the best, but at least he hadn’t spent the last three years stone cold sober.
His tolerance was definitely better than Pepa’s at this point.
“Fine, but if you puke, I’m not cleaning it.”
And so here they were, the two of them playing uno, with a bottle of aguardiente and two shot glasses between them.
The rules were quite simple; if anyone put down a yellow card, Pepa would drink, and blue for Agustín.
If Pepa put down an even number, she drank, and if Agustín’s number was odd, then he would.
They’d both drink if the card is a seven or a red.
Julieta and Félix had filtered into the room to spectate, the game having already started before they could join.
“UNO!” Pepa screamed, loudly, making Agustín jump and almost fall off his chair.
So far, Pepa had taken three shots, and contrary to what she had said, her tolerance was not fine.
She was very enthusiastic about this whole game, and was taking great enjoyment from being as loud and obnoxious as humanly possible.
Thank goodness Dolores was in her soundproof room.
“Pep, you have three cards in your hand! You can’t just shout Uno!”
“But I like saying it.” Pepa pouted. “It’s a fun word to say. Uno uno uno.”
Julieta just giggled, half of her attention on a book she was reading as she sat beside her husband.
Agustín was seriously starting to regret this, and he groaned when he put down a red card.
Which also happened to be a seven.
“Oh yay!” Pepa squealed, three rainbows above her head as she bounced up and down in her chair. “Does this mean it’s two shots each? I think it should be two shots!”
“I think you should probably slow down, mi vida.” Félix chimed in, hesitantly. Until now he’d been a silent spectator, but he knew that his wife had a tendency to not know where her limits were.
“I was talking to Agustín. Not you.” Pepa swatted his hand away, gently as she filled one glass and downed it, then another.
Perhaps she was imagining it, but the room was starting to spin.
She could barely see the cards she was holding.
“I think I’ve swapped bodies with you, Agustín. I can’t see what these say.”
“Or you’re just wasted.” Agustín rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the comment about his eyesight.
Admittedly, he wasn’t feeling the best himself.
He hadn’t had as much to drink as Pepa, but he’d had a generous amount.
At least he could see straight.
He put down a yellow, and sighed with relief.
He had two cards left and the discard pile was getting fairly high.
Peps drank her shot, and then….
“UNO!” Pepa shrieked, frightening the life out of Agustín again after she had put down a blue.
“Is this actual uno or are you just saying it because you want to say it?”
“No no, it is.” Félix had taken to helping Pepa play as she sat on his lap. She would have fallen off her chair otherwise. “She only has one.”
Pepa picked up the last two cards from the pile.
Much to Agustín’s disdain, he put down a red, so both he and Pepa had to drink.
The liquid burned Pepa’s throat and she squinted as the light was bothering her.
The rainbow above her head kept disappearing and reappearing, like it wouldn’t make up its mind.
She leaned her head against Félix, breathing a sigh.
“I love you.”
Félix chuckled in amusement as the intense, affectionate side of drunk Pepa began to come out.
“Do you?”
“Mm. I don’t like Agustín. He cheats at this game.”
“I don’t even know how to cheat! Besides, you’re winning. Annoyingly. If I was cheating, which I’m not, you wouldn’t be winning.”
And Pepa was winning. She had almost run out of cards and Agustín still had three.
Agustín played his next card, which happened to be a five, so he took a shot.
He knew he probably wouldn’t win anyway, and he was proven right.
It was Félix who won the game for Pepa, for she had completely zoned out and was staring into space.
“Pepi.” Félix nudged her. “You won.”
A rainbow appeared once again over Pepa’s head once she realised what was being said to her.
“I won! I won all by myself!”
“You didn’t win all by yourself.” Julieta corrected her as she closed her book, “Félix had to help you as you were practically passing out in his lap.”
“Oh well. I’m just glad we don’t have to endure the “I didn’t win and this game is rigged” tantrum.” Agustín shrugged as he stood. He swayed a little, but he could stand.
Pepa, however, could not.
And then she had an announcement to make.
“I feel sick.”