@encharms (santos) said: "by god, how much have you had to drink?"
robby’s first mistake had been letting himself get robed into appearing at the staff party. his second, more detrimental, mistake had been expecting his alcohol tolerance to be higher than it is (curtesy of twelve hours on his feet and nothing substantial priming his stomach). it’s a lethal blend. the fact that he doesn’t want to be here making the drinking a prerequisite. he has retracted to a stool at the closed end of the bar, alone and hoping to pass as a regular or blend in with the furniture. after awhile, he forgets to pay attention to whether or not he is doing so successfully and he simply drinks. it takes doctor santos stepping into his peripheral vision, ordering something while standing in the space between his stool and the next, for him to tap back into reality.
he senses the way she turns to look at him, but he keeps staring at the residue in his glass until her question prompts him to turn his head. the way she blurs in front of him makes him feel an onset of nausea. he blinks repeatedly in spite of knowing that it won’t rectify the situation. “what?” he answers, densely, like he can’t make out whatever she’s saying. he runs a hand down his beard, wiping down some of the moisture there, trying to look a little more stable than he feels and clears his throat, “probably less than what you are thinking right now, judging by the look on your face.”
