(no subject)

[little_words]

It's well past dusk by the time someone comes around to the darker corners of the manor, and by that point Shark is well past the point of inebriation. It's a little disparaging, given that most of his life he'd made it a point to try and match mugs with the best of them, and on more than one occasion had won pouches of gil based on his alcoholic tolerance alone. But it had been moons since he'd actually imbibed himself with the harder-hitting ales, and many more since he'd engaged in a drinking competition with an overeager adventurer. If he weren't teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, doubtless he would have argued with himself over the state of his tolerance - but he had long since crossed over that threshold, and could only blink slowly as the blond-haired miqo'te froze in the middle of taking out the trash and turned towards him.

There was a heavy, pregnant pause. From downstairs the sounds of merrymaking could be heard, and even the beginnings of a boisterous, drunken song - and Shark hiccuped, and drew the bottle to his lips again for another generous gulp. He'd long since forgotten what it was the bartender had given him, but it wasn't as though he were in any state to ascertain it now. The blond miqo'te gave him a once-over as Shark struggled to remember his name with increasing difficulty.

"... Are you..." Mikh'li began, looking torn between being angry and being concerned. Shark couldn't really blame him, given their last encounter, but at the same time he wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that.

Since their last meeting, Shark had been frequenting the Drunken Moogle more and more often as his relationship with Sae slowly returned to normal. Or, as normal as could be for the pair of them. The blond miqo'te had also apparently gained a job sometime during the visits, so he and Shark ended up running into far more times than either of them would have liked. It had done nothing to improve their budding acquaintance, but it had done nothing to make it worse, either. It was a situation that was most like avoiding someone you desperately didn't want to interact with, with various results.

"Hey." Mikh'li's voice sounded again and Shark blinked owlishly up at him. The other had taken a few cursory steps forward with his lips pursed and his tail thrashing sporadically behind him. It was hard to tell whether he was going to toss Shark out or help him up. "If you're gonna throw up, you're gonna have to leave. Otherwise, rooms are over that way." The blond thumbed over his shoulder gruffly, and, apparently satisfied with that minimal effort, turned on his heel to leave.

"Wait." Shark's voice was slurred even to his own ears, and he had to pause to compose himself in a more dignified manner. Surprisingly enough, Mikh'li did take pause, and turned with a suspicious look on his face and a set to his jaw that did nothing to make him look hospitable. Shark took a deep breath, lifted a hand - and beckoned the other closer. Even the gesture of his hand made his vision swim, when he looked at it, and it took a considerable amount of effort to fix his gaze on the face of the blond in front of him.

"I need some help up."

"I can go and get someone from security," Mikh'li began, but Shark shook his head. A mistake, when the world seemed to swim with it. The blond's eyes turned flat in disbelief, and his lips pursed together even harder.

"If you go I'll probably make a mess before you come back."

Another pause fell between them, and Mikh'li's eyes darted from Shark to the rooms, and then to the stairs leading to the bar. It appeared he was doing the calculations to see how long it would take for him to fetch someone else to tend to Shark on a busy night, and also the likelihood of them getting down before the brunet made a mess; which would undoubtedly fall to Mikh'li's responsibility to clean up. Shark didn't know how Free Company hierarchies worked, but given his own experience as one of the newest of the guilds' bitch errand boys, he didn't doubt that Mikh'li's newly recruited status ensured he got the brunt of the dirty work.

"...Fine." The other miqo'te said after what seemed like an eternity, and took a few steps forward to hold a hand out to Shark. Shark made a swipe that missed the first few times, Mikh'li's expression growing all the more exasperated the whole while - and when he finally managed to clasp at the blond's fingers, Mikh'li tugged him up with such intense force borne out of a desperate need to be done with the situation as quickly as possible that Shark stumbled and fell bodily into the other with a wheeze of breath. The fact that they were still able to keep upright probably said as much about Shark's current physical health than Mikh'li's physical strength; he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a full, proper meal.

Regardless, there were a few precarious moments where they wavered - Mikh'li muttering a sharp curse as he tried to get his bearing - and then they were fine, and Shark was more or less draped over the miqo'te's torso with his feet instinctively struggling to make sense of where they were before his brain could catch up. The bottle laid long forgotten in a pile of cushions that were slowly soaking up what remained of the liquor, and Shark lifted his head to blink blearily up at the blond. Mikh'li's nose wrinkled, oversensitive to the smell of alcohol, and his disgusted expression was enough to earn a grin from Shark before he dropped his head and retched all over the miqo'te's shoes.

Needless to say, that didn't improve their relationship.