A/N: Prompt by MudTrash:
You know that thing multilingual people can do where they forget a word in one language, and so they just start saying the word in another language they know over and over, praying someone can tell them the word they're thinking of? Imagine a drunk/tipsy Husk is talking to Alastor like normal and then suddenly he SOMEHOW forgets a word in English. So he's cycling with the word through all the languages he knows getting more pissed by the second and Alastor speaks none of them and can only watch Husk slowly slip into madness.

This chapter happens between chapter 11 of Afterlife and chapter 4 of Fine, jackass!

Also, a big thank you for everyone who helped me with the languages!

Husk slapped his paw against the table and tossed his head back as he laughed at his own fucking story without a care in the world. He was the exact right amount of drunk to be in a story-telling mood, with his best friend by his side as an appreciative audience. Going to one of the better pubs with Alastor was honestly one of his favourite things to do, and he was enjoying tonight to the full extent.

"Okay, so fucking listen", he said after he was done laughing. He took a drink from his ale to wet his throat, and grinned at Alastor, who looked suitably amused and entertained. "After that shit, they were all just standing there fucking gob-smacked, and this idiot had the smuggest fucking grin on his face! He didn't even realize he was being a… uhh…"

He blinked in confusion. What the hell was the word again? He knew what he wanted to say on a conceptual level, but his mind completely blanked out on him and refused to grant him the actual word he needed.

Shit, he hated it when this happened.

He shook his head and cleared his throat, deciding to simply try again. With any luck the word would come to him on the second try.

"So, as I was saying, the fucking moron didn't seem to even get that he was being a…" No. Fuck, no! Come on now, brain! Try to fucking work with him! "A plain... you know, when someone's being a… fuck… shit fucking damn it! Why is the damned word eluding me right now, what the actual fuck?"

He threw his hands in the air in frustration and tried to think. He knew the fucking word, he knew he did. He knew several words for the same thing even. It was ridiculous to not remember any of them. He had a large fucking vocabulary and an excellent memory! He didn't speak six fucking languages just to-

Oh! There it was!

"Он был помехой!" Husk yelled in triumph, pointing a claw at Alastor.

Alastor had a blank look on his face. There was no sign of comprehension or co-triumph for his success anywhere.

"I'm sorry, Husker, but I don't speak Russian", Alastor said, tone even sounding slightly apologetic for once, even though the jackass was obviously very amused. "The only reason I have a passing familiarity with how it sounds like is because you speak it at times."

Fuck damn it!

"Of course you fucking don't", Husk muttered, and snapped his claws a few times while trying to wrack his brain for the damned word.

Come on, come the fuck on…!

"障碍", he tried, as Mandarin was the next language to pop in his drunken mind. It was the most spoken language in the world, so…

Alastor looked completely lost now. "I don't even know what language that was."

Of all the uncultured-

"Un estorbo", he said, and gave Alastor an expectant look. Surely Spanish would be understandable? Half the people in the States spoke Spanish or was at least somewhat familiar with it.

Alastor frowned – that is, his eyebrows scrunched together and his smile got smaller, which counted as a frown for him – like he tried his hardest to understand. Ultimately he shook his head.

Damn it! Okay, how about… "Ein Hindernis."

Everyone who didn't choose Spanish as an optional language during their schooling picked German instead, right?

Alastor shook his head. "The only other language I speak is French. Louisiana French, at that. Whatever you said just now was complete gibberish to me."

Fuck that noise! Why did Alastor have to speak a language he didn't instead of conveniently understanding something he did speak? Fine. Fuck. Italian was close to French, maybe that would work? He was going to merrily ignore the Spanish he had already attempted, which had actually had a better shot and had still failed.

"Un ostacolo!"

"That is still not French, dear. Similar languages aren't as helpful as one would think. Maybe if you wrote it-"

Husk let loose a long line of colourful swear words, starting with one language, continuing in another, and going through every language he spoke and a few he actually didn't.

Alastor looked impressed now. "Was all of that swearing only? You actually had some French there. I could teach you some Creole swears if you'd like. Just because I don't swear much doesn't mean I don't know the words for it."

Husk glared at him, although admittedly without much heat. He had let his frustration out with the string of swears for the most part, and more importantly… He had already forgotten why he had needed the word he had been searching for in the first place. He had been telling a story, but fuck him if he remembered what it had been anymore.

For fuck's sake.

His ears pinned back and his tail whipped against both his and Alastor's legs as he sulked while finishing his ale in silence.

Alastor watched him for a long while, and finally hailed a waiter over and ordered them new drinks. While waiting for their drinks, he summoned a notepad and a pen and scribbled something down. He then nudged Husk's shoulder, and slid the notepad in front of Husk's nose. It had French words in it.

Husk stared at the words, and then raised an eyebrow at a widely grinning Alastor.

"Do you want to know what they mean and hear how they're pronounced?" Alastor asked, mischief in his pretty red eyes.

…

Husk sighed, and returned the smile with a small one of his own.

He could always tell his story some other time, he supposed.