'Cause she rocks it like the naughty, wicked witch of the west

Tonight was one of those nights where it was just easier to numb the entire world out. He had already spent several hours knocking back drink after drink. It seemed that simple alcohol wouldn’t suffice tonight. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that the bartender was about to cut him off. Especially since he couldn’t seem to keep his head up properly, allowing it to sag down towards the bar.

Yes, he had definitely had enough of this. Drowning in alcohol hardly ever worked for Rabastan anymore. Especially on nights where his mind was plagued with thoughts that were pushing him down even further than he already was.

‘You aren’t worth anything! You are completely replaceable. You are lucky to have pureblood, otherwise you would have been thrown aside long ago. You remember that for the rest of your life. You aren’t important enough to be remembered.’

Yes, Rabastan definitely had had enough. He needed a blank mind, at least for a little while. Standing up quickly was a poor choice on Rabastan’s part. He stood as still as he could, holding onto the back of his chair for support until the dizziness passed. Once he felt that he was capable of walking, he made a beeline for the lavatory. Once there, he fumbled around in his robes, pulling out a small vial of white powder. A satisfied smirk came rushing to his lips, it had certainly been a while since he last indulged. He made a mental note to check his how much he had left at home, hoping that he would remember it the next day. 

He lifted the vial to his nose, at a slight angle to prevent all the powder from going at once, and he inhaled through his nose quickly. He paused for only a few seconds before repeating the action until the vial was empty.

Rabastan attempted to replace the vial back into his robe pocket, but was highly unsuccessful, dropping the vial to the ground and letting it shatter to pieces. He couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he watched the vial fall in slow motion, feeling incapable and unwilling to save the poor thing from smashing to pieces. 

As he was trying to stifle his laughter (so he wouldn’t bring any unwanted attention to himself), he came up with an idea. Rabastan quickly stumbled out of the lavatory.

He scanned the pub, forgetting what his idea was. He stood still for a moment, trying to remember what his idea was. He scratched his hair, thinking that it would help him remember, leaving his hair ruffled, not even noticing it.

“Fucksakes.” he muttered, his words slurring together. He staggered back to the bar, somewhat angry at himself for forgetting what he was going to do so quickly. Rabastan sat down on a stool, after almost falling off of it on his first attempt.

He put his elbow on the bar, and his chin in his palm, tapping the side of his face rapidly, wondering what the fuck his plan was. He knew he had some sort of plan, and it was a good enough one for him to want to carry it out right away.

“Fucksakes.” he muttered again after what seemed like an hour (but was only a few minutes) of thinking. It seemed useless, he wasn’t going to remember. Perhaps he should go and find his brother? He always seemed to know what to do. After all, wasn’t it Rodolphus’ fault that Rabastan was in this current situation in the first place?