Drunken Sailor

[Reeves]

He chuckled when she seemed to admit being afraid he wouldn't sit down and drink with her, and that she'd be cursed otherwise. Clearly, he was more than a little drunk himself, and that was brought out more of his actual self than the face he put on. Nothing was overtly wrong with this version, but if she were sober, she'd have felt something uncanny about it. Like all the pieces needed to make a person weren't quite there. "If you want me around, or to share drinks with you, then just ask me to. I'm afraid that you'll want to have me around at some point but just won't ask out of pride or something else." It was no longer possible for him to be eloquent or specific, in fact things all around him seemed to be steadily going out of focus. The time it took him to come up with a string of words that made sense was double what it usually was. And it was almost as if there was a crowd of people constantly engaged in banter inside his own head, so much background noise and random thoughts that he was on the verge of voicing.

"Are you sure you want me to? I really should just be taking you back, we're both drunk." There was clear surprise to his voice and face when she just asked him to go take the empty spot on stage. His reservations had been neutered by whatever the alcohol percentage written on the bottle was, which he honestly should have read before consuming. A part of him wanted to make sure he wasn't leaving her in an uncomfortable situation, drunk and alone at her table.