She could hear her boyfriend making an ass of himself from her seat at the bar.

They were in one of those seedy clubs that were not quite daring enough to be a strip club, with bikini-clad dancers on the stage and garish neon lighting. The music seemed to consist entirely of electro-pop that was more bass than beat, though none of the bar's inebriated patrons appeared to really care about what the soundtrack was. Franke and Nils had taken them to this place in order to celebrate Nils 'once again freeing himself from the clutches of Elka Doom.' Unfortunately for him, it turned out that he wasn't quite as free of her as he had thought- she had stormed into the club about twenty minutes into their party, and had dragged him into a dark corner to furiously recount every single crime he had committed against her person.

An hour had passed since then, and the two were now making out in that very same dark corner. The loss of her partner in crime had not dampened Franke's spirits one bit. "You straights are wild," she had laughed before walking off onto the dance floor to ogle the dancers, taking Mikhail along with her.

Phoebe turned her head just in time to witness her boyfriend making demands. "We want more tits!" Mikhail exclaimed, swaying drunkenly. He raised the hand holding his drink ( a strawberry vodka lemonade that Franke had bought for him) in emphasis, the liquid sloshing out of the cup onto his shoes.

The club-goers around him voiced their agreement of the sentiment. "Yeah, give us more boobs!" Franke yelled, less drunk but twice as high.

Nils broke apart from Elka. "More boobs!" he shouted.

"Pig!" Elka screeched before grabbing him by the hair and shoving her tongue down his throat.

"We want more tits!" Mikhail repeated.

Normally, such an embarrassing display would be enough to force Phoebe out of the bar in disgust. But she had just finished her third mojito of the night, and as such, found his behavior hilariously stupid, but otherwise inoffensive. She hopped off the barstool, almost knocking it over in the process. She steadied it, and herself, and then strode confidently onto the dance floor. Finding her man in the crowd would not be difficult- he was the tallest person in the club, even without his hat (which he had lost at some unknown point in the night).

She found him just as he was finishing off his drink. He drew in a breath to call for more tits, but the request died in his throat the second he saw her standing there. His drunken smile immediately morphed into the expression of a man who was aware that he had done wrong and was soon going to be punished for it.

The mojitos had given her a warm, confident feeling, and she smirked. She knew just how to handle this situation, and she stepped forward, pushing aside a stranger that had gotten too close to her. "You like tits, huh?" she said, her words only slightly slurred.

Mikhail stared at her, the alcohol in his system slowing his response.

She got closer to him, close enough so that their bodies were pressed together. She stood on her tiptoes, and then, when that wasn't enough, levitated a little bit to speak in his ear. "What's the most important part of a woman?" she asked.

The question sobered him up instantly. His face took on a contemplative air. "The soul," he answered, looking off into what would have been the distance had they not been in a sleazy nightclub.

"What about tits?" Phoebe said. She floated back down to the floor, unable to keep up her levitation in her intoxicated state.

"Tits are good," Mikhail admitted. He pressed the hand that was not holding his empty drink to his heart. "But the most important thing is the soul." He said this with the utmost seriousness.

Phoebe burst into giggles, collapsing against him. "Oh my God," she said between laughs. "You are really drunk."

Story was inspired by 203y's art, which was in turn inspired by that Bald Russian Man who Gets It.