My Roman Empire in this book is this 6 year old getting drunk and when Klaus finds her she says "Daddy, th'floor's movin',"
How Klaus of her.
SUNNY WAS BORED. Klaus had gone off somewhere again, talking about something called "grown-up business," which to her just meant that he'd be gone for a while and she'd have to find her own fun. She wandered into the kitchen, her little feet padding against the floor as she poked around the cabinets. Sunny was always getting into things—Klaus liked to say she was curious, and Diego usually added that she was a menace.
She pushed open one of the cabinets and peeked inside. Cereal, some weird cans, and... oh, what's this? A big glass bottle with a dark amber liquid sloshing around inside. She'd seen it before, lots of times. Klaus would drink it and make funny faces, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying, but he always said it made him feel better. So, it must be good, right?
Sunny reached up on her tiptoes, grabbing the bottle with both hands. It was heavier than she expected, almost slipping from her grasp, but she managed to haul it onto the counter. The label was all squiggly and fancy; she couldn't read it, but that didn't matter. It was Daddy's special drink, so it had to be fun.
She twisted off the cap, the smell hitting her like a wall. It was sharp and weird, making her nose wrinkle up, but that didn't stop her. Klaus always drank this stuff, so why couldn't she? Sunny tilted the bottle to her lips, taking a small sip, then immediately spat it out. It burned. It tasted horrible, like fire and dirt mixed together, and she made a face that was all scrunched up like she'd bitten into a lemon.
But then she thought about how Klaus always drank it, how he would sip and sip until he was happy, or at least seemed that way. Maybe it just took some getting used to, like when she tried spinach and hated it but then didn't hate it as much later. So, she tried again, taking a bigger gulp this time. It still burned, but now she felt something warm spreading through her chest, like a cozy blanket wrapped around her insides.
Sunny giggled, a tiny hiccup escaping her mouth. She took another sip, and then another. It wasn't that bad now—kind of funny, even. She felt all floaty, like she was on a boat rocking gently in the water. Her head was spinning in a fun way, and everything seemed a little bit fuzzier, like she was looking through a foggy window. She lay back on the floor, holding the bottle like it was a stuffed animal, and watched the kitchen ceiling dance above her. The world was all topsy-turvy and wobbly, but it was kind of nice.
Meanwhile, Klaus had realized that the house was too quiet. Dangerously quiet. Sunny was always making noise, running around, singing some nonsense song, or asking a million questions. But now, nothing. Just the eerie stillness that immediately set Klaus's nerves on edge.
"Bunny?" he called, checking the living room. No sign of her. He went to his room where he told her to sit for awhile, peeking in to see an empty bed and her toys scattered everywhere. His worry began to grow as he checked every corner of the apartment, his footsteps quickening, his heart thumping in his chest. "Sunny-Bun! Where are you?"
He retraced his steps, muttering under his breath. He knew he shouldn't have left her alone, even for a minute. Sunny was too curious for her own good, and every time he let his guard down, she found a new way to test his patience—and his heart. Klaus moved to the kitchen, feeling the panic rise as he glanced around, until finally, he spotted her.
Sunny was sprawled out on the floor, the whiskey bottle still clutched in her tiny hands. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-closed, and her little mouth hung open in a goofy, drunken smile. She looked like a tiny, adorable disaster.
