"Alright, I think I've had enough of this." Zell sighed, winning the second game. Seifer wouldn't admit that Zell was obviously the better player of the two, but comforted himself that at least he could hold his liquor. And he'd consumed a goodly amount. "How much have you had to drink?" He shrugged his shoulders and held up ten fingers questioningly. It was hard to tell whether he was trying to figure out how many fingers he was holding up or how much he'd had to drink. Zell played dirty, he'd landed the green stripe and green solid regardless of which he was playing and had still won both games.
The bar had been almost unbearably warm by the time they left. The chill of the night air and the salty smell from the sea outside was a shock to their systems after spending some five hours in an unventilated room. They usually opened all the windows in the entire building in the day as olfactory preparation for the next night of debauchery. Whatever it was that they were doing, it wasn't enough. The smell would cling to them for days. "Man, I go'a git home." Seifer was speaking much slower than he ususally did, even his tongue felt sedated and large. His head seemed to sway in odd directions on its own accord. When did his feet tangle so easily? Maybe he'd grown an extra leg. "Yo gon'a w-walk me hoom *chicken*, I think I'm a lil too inebriatated..."
It was hard to be insulted by a man who seemed barely able to pronounce the word 'chicken.' A very drunk man, actually He was certain that he had never, even as a child, heard Seifer giggle like that. He was willing to bet that Seifer had never actually giggled like that, nor been as drunk as he was now. The reality of the danger Seifer was in was enough to sober Zell's delirious feeling of unquestioned victory. He'd become used to being responsible for other people's welfare. He couldn't let Seifer go alone. "C'mon" He grabbed Seifer's dangling left arm and draped it around his broad shoulders.
Seifer just sort of stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows knit together as he tried to figure out some overly simple thought that wouldn't finish itself. Giving up, he almost seemed pleased with the situation. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Zell started to guide his steps towards the sidestreet Seifer lived on. His mother had said something about Seifer living in an old building on the ave next to the general store and there was only one general store.
Their conversation on the way isn't really worth noting. In fact, the most comprehensible bits went something like: "is this your street?" "i tink sooo" By the time they arrived, Zell was slightly frustrated with the far more drunk Seifer. In fact, he was only feeling slightly buzzed know. Responsibility was a real kill joy.
"Wheyoo helpin me *chicken*, Yoos alwheys so upset n ANGRY at me..." Seifer slurred as he fumbled his keys out of his pocket. This was more difficult as he seemed unable to speak without large gestures for important points in his sentences. (Those important points being almost every syllable.) After agonizing moments of effort, Seifer fumbled the keys from the lip of their denim prison with a jingle on the tiled floor.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm just doing this so I can tell all my friends that I scored with you and that you were really bad." Zell, of course, had no intention of ever telling anyone he did this, although his mind told him that he'd end up just blurting it out anyway. He'd been spending way too much time with Quistis. Why did he keep thinking Quistis things? Why did he keep thinking about Quistis? It was getting out of hand. Seifer was getting out of hand. He bent down to reach for Seifer's keys and decided not to think about anything else until he'd slept this all off. Damn, Seifer had a lot of keys. Keys that all seemed like they could potentially fit the lock. Bronze keys, silver keys, plastic topped keys. He shook the bunch of them at Seifer and let the unspoken question stand. Seifer shrugged and he figured he'd have to just test every one while Seifer sort of lolled around the hallway like one of those bop it balloons.
"You know *chicken*" Seifer had apparently lolled his way right behind Zell because suddenly when he spoke he felt the hot breath on his neck...and smelt the liquor on his breath. "If that actually happened, you'd be singing a lighter song..." and he sounded so sober that Zell actually turned around to see if Seifer had been pretending all along. It must've been a fluke, there was an uncharacteristic wide grin on Seifer's face, white teeth shining in the faltering light bulb from the cracked ceiling. Zell clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes as he put the very last key into the lock.
click. The door swung open noisily into the four bedroom apartment Seifer called home. It looked exactly like it should. Things were exactly as they should be: stainless steel, light carpeting, and a simple, economical design. It wasn't filled with alot of things, but what was there was obviously of some form of quality. It didn't look like it came out of a magazine, but it was clean and looked put together. That was more than alot of people Zell knew could say about their own homes.
The bar had been almost unbearably warm by the time they left. The chill of the night air and the salty smell from the sea outside was a shock to their systems after spending some five hours in an unventilated room. They usually opened all the windows in the entire building in the day as olfactory preparation for the next night of debauchery. Whatever it was that they were doing, it wasn't enough. The smell would cling to them for days. "Man, I go'a git home." Seifer was speaking much slower than he ususally did, even his tongue felt sedated and large. His head seemed to sway in odd directions on its own accord. When did his feet tangle so easily? Maybe he'd grown an extra leg. "Yo gon'a w-walk me hoom *chicken*, I think I'm a lil too inebriatated..."
It was hard to be insulted by a man who seemed barely able to pronounce the word 'chicken.' A very drunk man, actually He was certain that he had never, even as a child, heard Seifer giggle like that. He was willing to bet that Seifer had never actually giggled like that, nor been as drunk as he was now. The reality of the danger Seifer was in was enough to sober Zell's delirious feeling of unquestioned victory. He'd become used to being responsible for other people's welfare. He couldn't let Seifer go alone. "C'mon" He grabbed Seifer's dangling left arm and draped it around his broad shoulders.
Seifer just sort of stared at him for a moment, his eyebrows knit together as he tried to figure out some overly simple thought that wouldn't finish itself. Giving up, he almost seemed pleased with the situation. A slight smile tugged at the corner of his lips as Zell started to guide his steps towards the sidestreet Seifer lived on. His mother had said something about Seifer living in an old building on the ave next to the general store and there was only one general store.
Their conversation on the way isn't really worth noting. In fact, the most comprehensible bits went something like: "is this your street?" "i tink sooo" By the time they arrived, Zell was slightly frustrated with the far more drunk Seifer. In fact, he was only feeling slightly buzzed know. Responsibility was a real kill joy.
"Wheyoo helpin me *chicken*, Yoos alwheys so upset n ANGRY at me..." Seifer slurred as he fumbled his keys out of his pocket. This was more difficult as he seemed unable to speak without large gestures for important points in his sentences. (Those important points being almost every syllable.) After agonizing moments of effort, Seifer fumbled the keys from the lip of their denim prison with a jingle on the tiled floor.
"Oh, don't worry, I'm just doing this so I can tell all my friends that I scored with you and that you were really bad." Zell, of course, had no intention of ever telling anyone he did this, although his mind told him that he'd end up just blurting it out anyway. He'd been spending way too much time with Quistis. Why did he keep thinking Quistis things? Why did he keep thinking about Quistis? It was getting out of hand. Seifer was getting out of hand. He bent down to reach for Seifer's keys and decided not to think about anything else until he'd slept this all off. Damn, Seifer had a lot of keys. Keys that all seemed like they could potentially fit the lock. Bronze keys, silver keys, plastic topped keys. He shook the bunch of them at Seifer and let the unspoken question stand. Seifer shrugged and he figured he'd have to just test every one while Seifer sort of lolled around the hallway like one of those bop it balloons.
"You know *chicken*" Seifer had apparently lolled his way right behind Zell because suddenly when he spoke he felt the hot breath on his neck...and smelt the liquor on his breath. "If that actually happened, you'd be singing a lighter song..." and he sounded so sober that Zell actually turned around to see if Seifer had been pretending all along. It must've been a fluke, there was an uncharacteristic wide grin on Seifer's face, white teeth shining in the faltering light bulb from the cracked ceiling. Zell clenched his teeth and rolled his eyes as he put the very last key into the lock.
click. The door swung open noisily into the four bedroom apartment Seifer called home. It looked exactly like it should. Things were exactly as they should be: stainless steel, light carpeting, and a simple, economical design. It wasn't filled with alot of things, but what was there was obviously of some form of quality. It didn't look like it came out of a magazine, but it was clean and looked put together. That was more than alot of people Zell knew could say about their own homes.