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Tourma watched him think, finding his relatively peaceful expression somewhat calming, or maybe it was the booze. When he answered, she listened, amazed by the honesty in his answer. "If you can't love someone for who they are, then don't date them." It made sense to her, at least.

With the question turned to her, the teen's eyes closed as she attempted to gather her thoughts and put them into words. The task seemed harder than usual, and she chewed on her lower lip as a result. "I want someone like my mom..."

Realizing how that sounded, her eyes shot open and she sat up quickly. Fighting the dizziness that surrounded her because of the sharp movement, she waved her arms in a negation. "So my parents are both guys, but my mom, I mean Slush has always taken on the female role... Which sounds like he's a crossdresser, but he's just him."

Hoping she had regained some credibility, she took a deep breath. "But my dad has a metal arm, and well... The same metal mutation I have, only his is more visible and mine is more extensive." Unconsciously, she brought her knees to her chest to hug, tail also wrapping around her. "He was a freak as far as the other Skullmonkeys were concerned, but mom loved him... Going out of his way to constantly remind dad that he was beautiful and awesome until dad finally believed it..."

Which is probably why she had been able to fight her eating disorder, with their help.

"Anyways," she continued, setting her chin on her knees. "I guess I just want to find someone who will love a hunk of metal like me... Take the good with the bad..."

After finally falling silent, she reached over to the bottle and helped herself to another happy swig.

"That's because you're an idiot," she explained kindly. With a raise of her arm, she pointed at the metal patch under her eye. "Metal." Then she stood herself up off the couch and hitched up her shirt to expose her hip with the metal peaking out, stepping closer so that it was directly in front of him. Clearly he was blind. "Metal," she rhetorically stated.

"Aaaand," she sang, turning to the side and pointing to another piece shining on the side of her leg, "Metal!"

"And yes, they are," Tourma added before cocking her head to the side (it appeared as more of a brain sloshing motion). "So how did that work out? Gay men usually like Slot C and Prong A, but not Slot B." It made sense to her, at least.

She freely released the bottle to him before gingerly sitting on the coffee table, which like all the other furniture in the house, was solid enough to handle her, across from him. Excited, she rubbed her hands together and intently stared at him. Alcohol gossip always was the -best- gossip.

Watch it be something silly like they were both bisexual and wanted their awesome genes to come out and make a pretty baby. Lame.

Even in her haze, her eyebrows raised at his consecutive swigs. As he started the story, she put her elbows on her knees and her chin in her palms so that she could intently listen to (and stare at) Ken.

During the story, she continued to tilt forward with her eyes widening, waiting on the edge of her seat (coffee table) for the veritable punchline to be dropped.

When it did, her jaw gaped unattractively.

Shock held her at bay for... Oh five or six seconds, and then she just burst out laughing. "Bowie... Baby...!" Tourma squeaked between breaths of laughter as she clutched her stomach.

Finally, she calmed down and cocked her head slightly, still smiling wide. "No wonder you hide in your room." Somehow, the connection worked in her mind. Placing a hand comfortingly on his upper leg, which she used for balance as she retrieved the bottle with her other hand, Tourma took a sip and murred low in her throat. "Why don't you like going out and being... Well, in-ter-active."

She was an Enunciation Queen. Bow down.

A deep frown took over her features and she immediately set the bottle back onto the ground before carefully climbing onto the couch with him. At first, Tourma had meant to try and hug Ken, but due to his position, plans had to be adjusted in mid climb. She finally wiggled herself and rearranged him so that his head rested in her lap while her fingers played through his hair in a comforting motion.

After a moment or two of silence, she blinked and appeared confused. "Wait, don't you work customer service... Like... With people?"

He must hate his job.

"Anyways, the hiding is what you need to stop doing. If someone doesn't like your personality... Then ******** them... But don't hide because you're scared of what others think..." A pause. "You -have- been to Barton, haven't you?!" Tourma gave him a pointed look and raised her arms up in a grand gesture before resuming the petting.

Subconsciously, her tail wound around her and his head, possibly tickling his neck with the soft tail tuft. "Seriously though, go out and do stuff more. You take so much for granted! You can go have snowball fights and make snow angels. You can go swimming and on boats without the fear of death..." Trailing off, she shrugged her shoulders in a drunken frustration before reaching down towards the bottle once more.

She half listened to him as he rambled on, but believed that she understood the main points. At the moment, that's what counted most to her. Especially since she couldn't tell what he had actually been saying.

When she leaned over while he spoke, she immediately blinked stupidly at the hot breath swirling around her tank and the skin exposed. Well that was different. The bottle was forgotten entirely, for now.

"Why don't you go out with me?" The teen murmured with as much hurtful influence as she could muster, as she sat back upright. "Practice makes perfect... Ya know."

She, somehow energized by the alcohol, clapped her hands together in excitement. Peering down at him, she frowned and bopped him on the head before bringing her face down dangerously close to his. "Not sleepytime." Tourma chastised, sticking out her tongue and nearly licking him accidentally.

Absently, she scanned the couch and frowned at how tiny it appeared to her. Clearly this would not do for sleeping, but since that time wasn't now, it shouldn't be worried about.

Not yet, at least.

"Sit up," she commanded all of a sudden, bucking her hips slightly to jostle his head. "Drooling on my crotch is unacceptable." The teen then announced conversationally. Tact had clearly been lost with the vodka.

She blinked at him as well, attempting to discern what time it actually was as well. Not much time passed before she had curled herself up against him, as her original comforting plan had failed earlier, wrapping her tail and arm around him in her fuzzy state.

Her main reason for being against sleep was that every time she closed her eyes, the room would tilt-a-whirl drastically, leaving her with the need to upchuck. And since vomiting would just bring about the most emo of flashbacks, Tourma thought it best to avoid that at all costs.

One of her legs instinctively (and carefully) hooked over his closest one as she hugged him to her. "I miss my family," she mumbled into his neck before deciding it was high time to trace shapes along his skin above his t-shirt.