There was an earthy-sweet scent that floated around Holo whenever she spent a long time in a thick coat or piled under warm blankets. Lawrence was too bashful to ever vocalize the sensual images that the aroma summoned in his mind, but he often caught himself silently sniffing the air around her, in hopes he would catch a small whiff in passing.
He had a hand on each of her shoulders and was helping the stumbling Holo navigate through a regal hall. Her head was bobbing around like she had long lost control of her neck, and her eyes rolled in all directions as if the idea of looking straight were an ancient joke.
He'd have been enjoying that earthy-sweetness then, had her skin not smelled so strongly of wine.
“I don't believe I've ever seen you this drunk....”
“You've said that twice now.” Her words came out slurred, but articulate enough to make Lawrence give an impressed chuckle.
“Then I meant it two-fold. Shall I say it a third time?”
“There is... no need.... I shall consider it noted!”
Lawrence smiled, not entirely sober himself. “Are you going to be alright like this? I've never seen you lose your balance before.”
“Hmpf! He must be struck dumb by the spectacle of firsts! How else would I stomach such an insult?”
“...What?”
“Bah! Can't even follow the simplest words.... Is he sure that I am the drunk one?”
“You are definitely the drunk one.”
Beyond surviving the onslaught of nonsense coming from her mouth—that was no doubt poetry in her inebriated mind—he was tasked only with keeping her moving in the right direction, and keeping her on her feet for the entirety of the walk. It would have been easier had her steps been full strides, but she was taking near baby steps, making what should have only taken a couple minutes into an epic ordeal.
When he'd questioned her speed, she had remained silent for several moments, as if formulating an extensive, thoroughly detailed response to his inquisition, but all she had said in return was “the only difference between me and a fool is a step. If I am to take one step too wide, then a fool I will be!”
He'd remained silent and contemplated it, at first assuming that she had meant she'd have lost her balance and fallen, but with his hands gripping her shoulders, that would have been nothing short of a feat.
The only alternative he could think of was that she needed to piss, which would have explained her unusual posture--she was leaned forward and bent at the stomach and knees—but he failed to understand why she insisted on speaking in only drunken riddles.
When they reached their room, Lawrence opened the door and helped her inside. She went limp the moment her butt was above the extravagantly covered and criminally soft bed-spread, causing Lawrence to nearly drop her. She landed on it and fell backward, her feet still planted on the ground.
She grimaced and grabbed her crotch, lifting her legs several inches. She sat up and used her elbow for support, looking as if the discomfort between her legs was the only thing keeping her from falling back down.
“That was uncomfortable.”
“Ah. So you do have to go then.”
“I said so earlier, did I not?”
“You said a lot of things earlier, but I don't-”
“-Bah! There is no time for your quips. The difference between a fool and a saint can be only a few words, and right now, I have no time for any of your words.”
Holo had forced herself to sit up, but she was drunkenly swaying back and forth and had to catch herself from falling over several times. She still had her hand between her legs, and her legs were clasped tightly around it.
“It is uncomfortable to lean forward. Lawrence, fetch me the chamber pot.”
“Yes, my queen.” Lawrence mocked her, but Holo did not respond. He got down on the his knees and looked under the bed. Several moments later, he spoke: “It looks like the servant forgot to bring it up. I will go down and get one.”
Holo's face contorted into one of surprise. “That is... disappointing.”
“Yeah, it's a little annoying. Especially after he specifically told us he was going to put one in here.” He sighed. “Anyway, I'll be back in a few.”
“Go quickly, or else you may have to make a second trip for new covers.”
Lawrence put one finger in the air. “I suppose the difference between old and new covers is the same as the difference between the fool and a saint.” He smiled, clearly satisfied with himself.
“If you have time to waste on jokes then you have time to walk.”
Lawrence sighed and shook his head. When he had left the room, Holo sighed as well, and then grimaced.
“Hnrrrg.” She pressed her other hand into her crotch and re-clasped her legs. Her tumble onto the bed had turned a desperate situation into a tragic one, and when she had sat up, she'd even become aware of a faint sensation of dampness that she'd swore had not been there before.
She looked around the room in hopes the pot had been misplaced, and that she would find it safely tucked away in a corner, beckoning to be used. She considered getting up to look for it, but she was too afraid to stand.
“Bah!”
If new covers were needed, than she'd have no reason to feel guilty. Had the servant never falsely declared that he would be bringing them a chamber pot, than she would have never counted on her room being a worthy sanctuary. Had he never failed to do his job in the first place, she'd have not ended up in such a situation, and there would be no question of new covers at all.
She growled. A moment later, her body stiffened and she gasped.
She felt a droplet of something slip past her, quickly absorbing into the fabric of her pants.
It had come out on its own, with no warning.
She looked down at her lap in drunken confusion as a small warm patch formed around her groin, followed by a warm droplet that ran down her butt cheek.
She swallowed and tried to tighten her lower muscles, but the attempt only caused more droplets to leak out, forcing her to come to terms with how little control she had over her over-full, alcohol-numbed body.
It dawned on her that attempting to wait for Lawrence to return could actually make 'new covers' the goal of a second trip, and taking a bath in the ice cold weather while intensely drunk was no pleasant thought, either.
But what was she to do? She had no way of knowing when she would do serious damage to the fabric around her, and she had no way of containing her urine.
She could attempt to make for the courtyard, but she doubted she could stand without potentially losing all control, let alone hold on until she stumbled her way outside.
“Grrrr!”
She was becoming frustrated. She was drunk, tired, and really had to piss.
If she ruined the covers of the bed, she would feel no guilt for it, and she was too drunk to feel any serious embarrassment until morning; however, urinating on herself or in her clothes was not an option, for more reasons than she could mentally keep track of in her frazzled state.
She felt another droplet come out. And then another. The thought of standing was nauseating, but she had no choice. She forced herself to her feet.
“Mhm!” She leaned forward and half-squatted, her mouth held open in pure surprise.
She waddled over to the opposite end of the room, losing more urine with every step.
The moment the first droplet traveled down her thigh, she reached the very corner of the room, by the window. She closed her eyes, ripped her pants down, and squatted all the way down to the floor.
There was the sound of urine splashing against stone, and then, the sound of liquid against liquid. The stream shot between her legs and formed a rapidly expanding puddle in front of her that soon flooded back against her toes. She tried to shift positions, but the intense feelings of relief surging through her body combined with the alcohol had left her too dizzy to move.
She moaned softly and pursed her brow, enjoying the feeling of warmth in her cheeks and all through her face. There was still a feeling of pressure in her lower stomach, and she wondered how long she would remain there, urinating on the floor like a child.
But she didn't care. She refused to care until after the deed was done. The pleasure too great, and the fault was surely not her her own.
“Holo....?”
She slowly opened her eyes, gradually accepting the change in atmosphere ushered in by Lawrence's entering of the room.
He stood there, dumbfounded and unable to speak.
She squatted there, reveling in bliss with nothing to say.
After what had been a minute of powerful urination, her stream came to a slow, staggering dribble. She looked around and, upon spotting the drapery, reached out and used it to clean herself. Afterward, she pulled up her pants and struggled to her feet, realizing at some point squatting had become easier than standing.
“Do not just stand there like a fool. Come over here and help me to the bed.”
Lawrence jolted as if woken up from a dream. He rushed over and did as she said.
“I do wish you'd say something.” She sat down on the bed and fell back, but this time, she allowed herself to stay there. “Your quiet is making this more awkward than it needs to be.”
“...I don't know if that is possible.”
“The servant said it! Didn't he? He said he'd bring a chamber pot! And what pot do you see here, Lawrence? Because I see none!”
“I am holding one....”
“Yes. And it was too late, was it not? Is it not true that a saint can have the wisest words, but if they are not spoken in time, they are but dirt?”
Lawrence sighed and let his shoulders go slack. “I sure hope I don't have to pay for those drapes....”
