Author's Note:

Special thanks to Das Lieblingsfach and St. Jack of Randomness for reviewing thus far! If you're a loyal follower of this quirky tale, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

"Never explain. Your friends do not need it and your enemies will not believe it anyway."

- Elbert Hubbard

Lock stood pensively as his narrowed eyes scanned the surplus of alcohol before him. His tail flicked back and forth and he raised a finger to his chin; he couldn't decide if he wanted to start his night with an ice cold beer, a class of expensive liqueur, or just skip right to the hard stuff. A bottle of pumpkin scotch caught his eye and he shrugged, lifting it off of the shelf and pouring some of the golden-amber liquid into a champagne flute.

"Ah," he breathed contentedly after taking a sip. Upon turning around he spotted Shock and Oogie talking with Stephen the werewolf next to the buffet table, and his mind immediately flashed back to the medicine bottle in his pocket. "Oh, yeah!" he thought aloud. "It's payback time for that big-nosed bitch."

He returned to the liquor shelf excitedly in search of a bottle of vodka and Kahlúa. With fervent effort he finally spotted them and snatched them off the shelf, combining their contents in a crystal glass. He grabbed some cream out of Jack's fridge and added a small amount to the beverage before reaching into his suit pocket to withdraw the medicine bottle. He snickered as he turned the bottle over in his palm. Grinning devilishly, he quickly unscrewed the cap and dropped a single pill into the drink, stirring the solution vigorously.

"I hope Shock likes roofies!" Lock cackled before turning back around, his scotch in one hand and the spiked drink in the other, and heading over towards his cohorts at the buffet table.

Shock was nibbling on a piece of multi-colored cheese, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "I don't understand how people can actually enjoy eating this fancy imported crap," she commented to Barrel who was approaching from the other side of the kitchen. They both looked up and spotted Lock heading towards them.

"Hey, sexy!" Barrel shouted across the room at an inappropriate volume, an emptied shot glass in hand.

Lock raised his eyebrow questioningly but then decided to ignore his already-tipsy companion and handed Shock the White Russian.

"Geeze, took you long enough!" Shock took the drink from the devil-boy, who was still grinning. She eyed him suspiciously. "What are you so happy about? Been poppin' the Jagerbombs already?

Usually her condescending, ungrateful attitude would have prompted a heated retort from Lock, but he knew when Shock passed out in front of everybody after one drink and became the laughing stock of the town for the next month, that would be payback enough. He continued to smile pleasantly at his companion.

"Yep, I think you have," she snorted and raised the glass to her lips. Suddenly, and to Lock's irritation, Stephen Wolfe whipped around and tapped her on the shoulder.

"Is that a White Russian?" he barked curiously. "I've heard good things about them, but I've never tried one myself."

"Sure is," said Shock, handing him the glass. "Want to try some?"

"No!" Lock shouted all of a sudden.

Both Shock and Stephen stared at him warily.

"What's your problem, weirdo?" asked Shock, her palms facing outwards.

Desperate for a cover-up, Lock glanced frantically around the room. "Um…it's just…" he stuttered awkwardly. "White Russians are really bad for werewolves!"

Stephen's ear flickered and he cocked his head to one side. "They are? How come?"

"Because…they have chocolate in them, and chocolate is poisonous to canines."

"They do not!" replied Shock incredulously. "You're full of shit, dude."

"Yes they do!" Lock shouted defensively. "And…they give you the runs."

"What!"

"Do they really?"

"Yes, and bad."

"Alright, dude, get out of here." Shock snatched the champagne flute out of Lock's hand. "I think you've had one too many of these. Go drink some water and sit quietly in that corner over there."

Lock started to panic as Shock pushed him out of the kitchen. "No, wait!" he protested, attempting to shake her off. She only tightened her grip on his shoulders and continued to drive him into the living room.

Shock spotted Behemoth (the employed bouncer) taking a fifteen-minute break next to the fireplace. "Will you give me a hand here, Behemoth?" she called. "I need you to keep Lock out of the kitchen. He's pretty wasted and I don't want him going near the rest of the alcohol."

Behemoth nodded and stood up, snatching Lock by the tail.

"Ow! Easy there, Frankenstein!" Lock hissed, still struggling against the two demons. Shock finally released him, but Behemoth kept a tight grip on his tail and started to drag him towards the stairs.

Lock cursed his luck and craned his neck back, watching Shock retreat to the kitchen as Behemoth hauled him forward. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of Stephen bringing the glass of White Russian to his lips.