Good thoughts, happy thoughts. Anything but sitting here, bored and silent and waiting for Pansy to either crack or pass out on him in a heap. Wishing he could share in the vodka, clamping his lips together so that 'Can I've a drink?' didn't just slip out before he could stop himself. She was still clinging white-knuckle-tight to her bottle, although her head lolled limp and dozy against his shoulder.