Drunk or not, don't think I missed it. The part of my brain that would make the connections between what I was seeing and the logical reasoning behind it might have been waterlogged worse than some halfwit's house on a floodplain, but my vision was more or less clear. The bastard's self-restraint lapsed for a moment there, and I saw him take on the stupid look most men get when they see my face for the first time--it's not all that flattering anymore, but at least he was looking mainly at my face.

I'll leave it up to you to figure out what the rest of the men I meet first look at--assuming you don't have the imagination of a librarian (you can take that a couple of ways--one, though is the fact that they're surrounded by all those amazing stories, and all they do is organize 'em into a system with decimals and numbers after a guy called Dewey), you should have some idea.

The look went away again, back to a face with all the humor of a crusty barnacle--but not before the idiot slapped himself. I mumbled something like, "D, d, don't get into a fight with yerself, yah?" Then he made a nasty little sound with his nose and carelessly threw his scabbard in my general direction.

I stumbled out of its way before it landed on the floor and clattered around like--well, at least what I've been told is like--a fish out of water. I've only really seen the smelly little things at markets.

"I'm not crazy, I'm just bored," he muttered. He apparently was already at the stage of drunkenness where you start to lose the ability to control the volume of your voice. This inevitably leads to whispering threats that you meant to yell and shouting out announcements before bathroom trips that you mean to mutter to your buddy.

I sort of gave him a blank look, and started to gesture with the shortsword as I said something like, "We can fix that."

Most people would've accidentally chopped their own hands off while drunkenly gesturing with a sword. I still seemed to have enough wits about me to just cut a little adroit circle in the air over and over. Training and experience just seemed to naturally fill in the places where logical thinking had left for a brief vacation--a survival instinct, maybe. One compensates when the other option's impaired.

__________________
[BA Characters][R. I. P. Duke of Clubs (11/15/92 - 1/5/08)][DA Account]

[A timid shapeshifter with an unexpected, inner wolf "side".]
[Mahalia's Profile]-[Myth on the Moors]