They caught each others' eye and slipped away from the throng to meet and commiserate in the corner. Lieutenant Kirk whispered, "How long has he been going now?"
Forsythe didn't have to look at his watch again. "Four hours."
In the middle of the room: the Yourian ambassador, surrounded by party-goers, laughing his wide-mouthed laugh, bellowing incomprehensible jokes and stories, naked but for his purse-harness and his downy feathers and his worryingly growing erection.
Forsythe was coming to the realization that his night was only just beginning. "I think he's drunk."
"He's drinking orange juice."
"I don't know his chemistry."