#thread1;paul

So maybe Sky was one, two, even three drinks past what would have been a sensible limit for him. It wasn't exactly stopping him from giving the bartender looks of avid adoration. If anything, his dreamy smile and slowly batting eyelashes were only increasing in intensity with each sip, as he leaned on his elbows, head tilting to one side in what his addled mind likely thought of as being in a coquettish and attractive way, but in reality was giving more silly drunk fool. "Has anyone ever told you you're so pretty? Like," he pondered for a moment, evidently struggling to find good similes, "the prettiest painting ever. Or- the prettiest tree ever. Or- um. A really pretty hedge."