#drunk ini

"Heck! I didn't get any cream on my nose, did I?"

Drunk Inigo!

Again?

"Again?" He groans. Ugh, the headache is getting worse and now he really feels like everyone is trying to tell him something.

Oh. Oh, she's not offering him a drink. Finally. He needs to go to bed. Wasn't that where he was headed, anyway? Inigo shakes his head as if to clear it, then instantly regrets it.

"Sorry, my darling. I can't stomach another drink. Of any kind. Uh..." He squints. There's two of her. "There's a bit on your nose. Noses. Heh. I only have one handkercheif. Um. It's...it's somewhere..." Hands feel as if they're moving through mud as he pats down his jacket.

Whew, he still has one! "Here. Keep it as a mento...no. Memento of our meeting! My pillow is calling my name." He'd bow, but he's afraid he'd fall over if he does.

Inigo seemed a little… tipsy, would be polite. Soren wondered what kind of reaction he might get.

“Broccoli smoothie.” Not exactly a lie. Soren held up the green up for Inigo to see, and then took a generous swig of the beverage himself. “Want one?”

Drunk Inigo!

Ick.

Inigo pulls a face at the drink. Who would just open by saying 'broccoli smoothie'?

Tentatively, he takes the offered glass. "Not really. I mean, seriously, why would anyone drink a broccoli smoothie? I barely eat the stuff when it's cooked."

Naga freaking dragon, it's downright cruel to use whipped cream as an incentive to eat--uh, drink--vegetables. Curse his insatiable sweet tooth. And his incredibly dry throat. He's in desperate need of water, really, but this is healthy, too!

Mostly.

"Oh wow, it's so pretty." Bernie's eyes are wide as the over stuffed crepe is passed to her. So many fruits and syrups drizzled atop the cream. Bernie turns back to Inigo with a wide smile. "H-hey, Inigo! Isn't it pretty? Y-you should try one too!"

Drunk Inigo!

They have cut him off from any more alcohol.

A very good call, despite how loudly he complained about it. Can't a guy have a little fun? Sheesh.

"Hmm?" Pink head tilts. Hair has long since become disheveled, pieces of it sticking up at odd angles. "Bernadetta! Fancy seeing you here, eh? Your smile is soooo pretty. Have I told you that? Oh, crepes! That looks delicious. I should have enough coins...."

The poor vendor has to help Inigo count out his coins--the last of them, as it turns out--before handing over a crepe exactly like Bernie's.

"Thank you, my friend!" He eagerly takes a bite, ruining the beautiful presentation. "Worth spending everything to my name! I wonder if Morgan will lend me some money."

it had been a mistake; rhajat merely took a seat to rest her legs, unknowing that the seat belonged to a table and that the table was already accompanied by a young man. the chef of the booth, upon noticing the now full table, immediately came over with a plate— saying something about how a lovely couple like them shouldn't seem so down. rhajat realizes her mistake too late and now, she sits across from... no, not laslow. she's followed him around enough to recognize the difference.

still, she's sitting at his table and there's a plate of.. oh, spaghetti. " you can have the meatball, " rhajat mumbles, making no move to actually pick up the other fork and eat. " i don't eat meat. "

Drunk Inigo!

Huh. How did he get here?

He has a spotty memory of someone guiding him to sit down and drink some water. But the night is still young! Kind of.

Dancer blinks stupidly at the new arrival. Not that he's complaining a girl willingly sat down with him! Not at all. He's just..confused. They haven't met before, of that he's sure. Even drunk, he'd remember a face like that.

"Hel-lo there! Are you new here? I'm Inigo! I don't mind sharing a table with such a pretty lass as yourself, not at all! 'Fraid I don't have much to pay with though. I've had a very strange night and spend most of my coins on wine..."

Drunken tirade is interrupted by the chef. "Thank you, my friend! Nothing like some food to settle the stomach, eh?"

Spaghetti isn't all that bad. Not a staple where he's from, and that meatball on top seems out of place. Whatever. It's probably delicious anyway.

"Huh? Oh, thank you." Inigo picks up his fork, chomping down on the meatball without really tasting it. "As I was saying. Are you enjoying yourself? You seem rather down, my darling. Oh! I forgot my manners. I don't even know your name. What a terrible date, eh?"

Mitama is trying not to be too obvious with the way her eyes remain glued to the fountain. Chocolate streams in delicious waves and she does not know who could be so cruel as to wait so long to set this up.

"How do you not lose the fruit in the fountain?" She asks quietly.

Drunk Inigo!

His head is spinning. He should eat.

Inigo wanders over to the chocolate fountain, eyes alight at the prospect of something sweet. "Mitama!" Is he talking too loud? An arm gets thrown around her shoulders.

"Ah, see these metal...stick....things?" To the untrained ear, he speaks in utter gibberish. Slurred Feroxan spills from his lips with little regard for if the listener understands.