Yeah, that's how they getchya. All those funky fresh flavours draw you in, then bam, you're naked in someone else's kiddy pool with no recollection of the last sixteen hours.
[And he's there not ten minutes later, with a big ol' half-gallon bottle of water as he knocks on the door. Loud enough to be heard, hopefully not so loud to set off a migraine.]
[When he arrives at the door, it's rounded at the top, with sliding airtight panels instead of hinges, but with none of the clunky utilitarianism of early Earth-based spacecraft. Instead, it's made of a glossy unidentifiable metamaterial, creamy off-white with a faint nacreous luster, and decorated with playful filigree gold foxes gamboling through a minimalist landscape of oversized daffodils and heaps of boulder-like knucklebone dice, like a surreal embroidered wall-hanging. By the standards of the Heptarchate-Hexarchate-now-Compact, this qualifies as tastefully restrained.
The door opens a few seconds after Eiffel knocks. Inside is a painfully neat, compact little apartment, painted in soothing dappled greens. There are hints here and there of far-future technology, but the furniture in the sitting room is pale wood. There's a red-and-gold tea set on the table, although Jedao hasn't actually made himself any yet. He smells faintly of salt, almost all vanished now, from his time in the Enclosure's sea. Jedao is tucked up in a corner of the couch.]
Wow. [Sorry, he's gotten a bit distracted by how completely fucking different this space is to Eiffel's own.] Your room is so much nicer than mine. Oh-
[Right he's here being helpful. He moves in and sets himself down next to Jedao on the couch, offering him the drink bottle as he drapes an arm over the back of the couch.]
Take it slow, tiger. You're gonna barf if you chug this one.
"Okay, Jedao, listen." He shifts to turn to face his friend fully, splaying his loose hand as he talks. "I'm not gonna read you the riot act for getting drunk with a few friends, alright? But for your sake, since you really don't sound like you've ever gotten plastered before, think you could do me a solid and remember what kind of bottles? Beer, mixers, rum or whatever? It's for your own good."
Okay he needs to just. Bury his face in his hands for a moment, with a muffled, "Oh my god."
He drags his hands down, pressing them over his mouth and nose for a moment as he inhales, then plants both hands on his knees in what he thinks is a very serious 'Don't Do Drugs, Kids' preschool cop look.
"Jedao, one liter-bottle of vodka is thirty standard drinks. Did you drink those bottles solo, or did you share them?"
"Okay- Jedao, you gotta make me a promise for next time you go drinking, alright?" He puts a hand on Jedao's shoulder. "Next time when everything starts getting all, like- tingly and soft like your brain's getting stuffed full of cotton balls and everything just seems really awesome? That's when you gotta stop. Okay?"
"Because that's the point we in the industry call 'tipsy'," he says, and it comes out surprisingly concerned rather than patronising. "And when you hit that point, you can stop, enjoy your buzz, have some harmless fun? And not get a hangover. If you keep going..."
His hand moves higher, to try and coax some of Jedao's bed head back to Earth with gentle combs of his fingers as he talks. "You get this. You don't know when to stop, and you might get hurt. Or hurt someone else, but not realise it because you're too drunk to remember."
"Hey, hey hey, easy-" He stops brushing Jedao's hair to grip his shoulder again, giving him a firm, if worried, look. "Deep breaths, champ, relax. What are you talking about?"
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[He is completely confident of this. Some of it happened before he started drinking, even.]
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[His tone is definitely sympathetic and not at all patronising. Nope.]
Is this baby's first real hangover?
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Fuck. The barge is getting impounded and he is two years old and he just went to his first party and he can't protect his friends.
He's laughing and it's horrible and he doesn't know why.]
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I'm gonna bring you some water, champ. What's your room again?
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...five thirteen.
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[And he's there not ten minutes later, with a big ol' half-gallon bottle of water as he knocks on the door. Loud enough to be heard, hopefully not so loud to set off a migraine.]
Heeey, Jedao. You still kickin'?
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The door opens a few seconds after Eiffel knocks. Inside is a painfully neat, compact little apartment, painted in soothing dappled greens. There are hints here and there of far-future technology, but the furniture in the sitting room is pale wood. There's a red-and-gold tea set on the table, although Jedao hasn't actually made himself any yet. He smells faintly of salt, almost all vanished now, from his time in the Enclosure's sea. Jedao is tucked up in a corner of the couch.]
Hey.
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[Right he's here being helpful. He moves in and sets himself down next to Jedao on the couch, offering him the drink bottle as he drapes an arm over the back of the couch.]
Take it slow, tiger. You're gonna barf if you chug this one.
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He takes it, sips, and grimaces. "And I didn't chug. It was just...a long party."
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This conversation where Jedao is slightly less with it, is perhaps revealing just how much he shrugs and moves on from in Eiffel's speech normally.
"James made it - from his home. All afternoon and...a lot? of the night? There was a bonfire. And jellyfish."
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"Alright, so. How much did you drink? You as in you personally."
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"A...couple bottles?"
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"It didn't taste like anything."
So nice.
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Well, not true. His mouth opens and closes a few times in disbelief.
"...vodka," he repeats, a bit weakly. "Straight?"
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He takes another sip of his water, faintly contemplative.
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He drags his hands down, pressing them over his mouth and nose for a moment as he inhales, then plants both hands on his knees in what he thinks is a very serious 'Don't Do Drugs, Kids' preschool cop look.
"Jedao, one liter-bottle of vodka is thirty standard drinks. Did you drink those bottles solo, or did you share them?"
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But he definitely finished them.
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"Okay- Jedao, you gotta make me a promise for next time you go drinking, alright?" He puts a hand on Jedao's shoulder. "Next time when everything starts getting all, like- tingly and soft like your brain's getting stuffed full of cotton balls and everything just seems really awesome? That's when you gotta stop. Okay?"
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“Why?”
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His hand moves higher, to try and coax some of Jedao's bed head back to Earth with gentle combs of his fingers as he talks. "You get this. You don't know when to stop, and you might get hurt. Or hurt someone else, but not realise it because you're too drunk to remember."
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"No! I didn't - he wanted to, he said so, he - I remember, I remember it!"
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