Tasha blinked the sleep out of her eyes; looking around the space she had fallen asleep. Running water sounded not too far away, but she didn't know what the source was. Tasha sat up on her elbows, scrutinising the space more closely. Odd, it seemed familiar, but not in the way that rooms on rebel bases seemed familiar. She'd been here before, but she couldn't place it. The water stopped, and a dripping wet Han Solo walked in to the room. Tasha's eyes bulged, and she froze. Han smirked at her, shaking a hand through his damp hair.
"Morning princess," he said, as Tasha sat there, still looking shocked.
"What the hell am I doing here?" she said, her voice anxious, almost panicked. Han just smirked at her.
"You don't remember?" he asked her, raising his eyebrows. Scanning through what she remembered, Tasha frowned.
"I was at the party . . ." she began, her voice uncertain as she pieced together her shattered memories, "I was drinking quite . . . substantial amounts of . . . Corellian whiskey . .?" Han nodded along with her story, "I remember dancing. . ." her voice trailed off as she looked at Han.
"You had drunk a hell of a lot by that time, princess." He said, shaking his head slightly at her, "you were incoherent." Tasha's eyes bulged at the new information, but Han continued, "I brought you back here because I didn't want you to make a fool out of yourself." Now it was Tasha's turn to nod along with him. She looked around apprehensively, trying to find some reply to his story.
"Thank you," she said quietly, avoiding his eyes. Yes, she'd had a few drinks in her time, but she'd never been that drunk. And she didn't want anyone associating her with that kind of behaviour. No, she didn't care what people thought of her, but now se was the face of the rebellion, she knew she couldn't be seen like that, knew how it could be used against her, to bring down the thing she cared most about.
"Well, we can't have the princess of the rebellion going on a drunken rampage, can we?" Tasha grimaced, a throbbing pain searing through her head. Her hand fell involuntarily to her forehead.
"My head feels like Jabba the Hutt's living in it!" she exclaimed loudly. Han chuckled, and Tasha glared at him. "So my hangover is amusing?" she said, in a tone that dared him to agree with her. Han shrugged.
"If you can't handle it maybe you shouldn't have drink like that," even as he said it, Han's head twinged with the reminder of last night, and Tasha smirked at him.
"By the looks of it neither should you, lover boy." she replied, and it was Han's turn to glare. Tasha sat up on her elbows.
"I've got just one question about last night," said Tasha, more casual than she had been yet, grinning slightly, "I didn't sing last night, did I?" there was a cringe in her voice and on her face. The smuggler also grinned back at her as she climbed gingerly off the bed.
"As a matter of fact. . ." he paused, Tasha glared at him through the haze of the pain in her head, "yes, you did." The raven headed girl groaned.
"I must stop drinking," she muttered to herself, running a hand through her now scruffy black hair. Wobbling slightly, Tasha tested he post-drunken-rampage legs, testing how stable she was on them. She pushed herself off of the bed, confident her legs would support her. Han chuckled, causing Tasha to glare at him again. Tasha's next mission was to get out of here before she was missed.
"Thanks again, Han." She said seriously, before walking out of the door, shrugging on one of his vests that were hanging off the edge of the bed. Han watched her as she left.
"No problem, Tash."