#drunk ali

steve being the lowkey fvaourite?? i died I LOVE IT!!

it was so sexy soshot so attractive so amazing you are too cool for shcoool emmy

im going to goeat my mcdoahlds now have fun ❤️❤️❤️❤️

anonali !!!

Whether he is speaking to anyone in particular is unclear. Perhaps he’s just speaking to himself, trying to spit the words out before he explodes. On the whole, he mostly seems to be speaking to his drink, his words slurring together as he grumbles.

“Would’a still fought the bloody dragon, jus’ not with her. Would’a helped clear out the…all the mobs or somethin’. An’ really, who banishes a Grey Warden when there’re only a couple an’–an’ there’s an Arch Demon on the doorstep? What–what kin’a sense does that make?” He pauses to glare down at his drink, only just then realizing that it’s empty. “Typical,” he sulks, as if that makes any kind of sense. He folds his arms on the table and leans down to rest his chin on them.

“You took my seat,” Alistair informed her pleasantly, and he promptly used her lap as his seat, instead. He was drunker than seemed strictly necessary for just getting through a ball, but he was nowhere near the most intoxicated person there, at least.

Alistair doesn’t seem overly bothered, at first. Even when he’s sober, unless there’s a blade in his hand then tripping over things or walking into things are not exactly uncommon occurrences. When he’s tipsy, it’s just a fact of life. But then he glances at his unfortunate seat and realizes that the lap he’s landed on is pretty much a complete stranger, and he shoots back to his feet so quickly that he almost seems to teleport, and very nearly trips over himself a second time.

“And you haven’t told me until now?” Alistair asked. He seemed content to stay right where he was, and whether it could be called a good idea or a bad idea didn’t really seem to bother him. “Well, I’ll have to take advantage of it tonight, then.” That was, of course, ignoring the fact that he was taking advantage of it right then, tucked against Hawke’s side as he was.

‘Shit faced’ is going a bit too far, but ‘tipsy’ isn’t going far enough. Alistair’s red in the face from something other than embarrassment brought on by awkward attempts at making a pass at Hawke for once, and openly grinning as he plops down with a cheerful, “Hawke.” He’s partially on top of Hawke and partially beside him, pressed close to him with his legs thrown over one of Hawke’s own.

Alistair laughs quietly, and he sounds like he’s come to some fabulous realization or perhaps outwitted some terribly clever foe as he taps one of his temples with two fingers and says, “Finally got it to stop talking to me for a little while.”

Had he been sober, there probably would have been some blushing (both for tripping over a dog like a graceful dancer, and for where he’d landed) and a lot of apologizing. As it was, though, Alistair was drunk enough that he just seemed sort of perplexed.