[Riley is drunk.
Really drunk.
In the El Mojito bar, she sits, making a fort out of shot glasses. It's unsurprising that after a time, having sat alone for a while, she finds the need to talk to someone. Rather than call someone specifically, she turns her comm on and addresses the boat at large.]So... I don't know about the rest of you but I
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...and he almost goes. He so almost goes. SO. CLOSE. TO GOING.
But he doesn't. He stays in his room. Which is JUST down the hall from Riley's and that sucks so bad.
And now she's right there on his comm. And he rewatches her a couple times.
He's totally drunk. But so is she. So what harm can responding do?
...probably enough. But Sal has no self-control.]
Heh, darlin'... Wish I could tell ya how t'make things work out, but I'm 'parrently not th'best at that.
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Usually, Riley doesn't give a flying fuck what people hear because she well, okay she cares about feelings but not people she's not dating anymore and usually she doesn't have to worry about them hearing what she has to say.
It's too late now. Riley sighs, off the comm, before flicking it on to reply.]
You know more than I do...but...I don't...you don't have to tell me anything, considering all things.
[This is so awkward.]
How are you doing? I haven't really talked to anyone in a couple weeks or so. You make it out of the party in one piece?
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M'alive. Fer th'mos' part. As fer doin'... M'... M'doin'. [Whatever that drunken mess means.]
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[This is so awkward. This? This is why Riley doesn't do the relationship thing. Awkward moments like these after it doesn't work.]
Sorry I should have locked that last part from you as well.
[Yes, she's learned to be more tactful lately. Don't faint.]
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Well, he's not drunk quite yet, so here is a tipsy Castiel. He sits besides Riley and stares up at her shot glass house.]
I would give you advice, but 'm the worst person to be tryin' to help.
[Amazingly, his speech is only a little slurred.]
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It doesn't matter. Riley welcomes the company.]
That's fine. I wouldn't have shit for advice either.
[Speaking of which, Riley turns back to her chocolate flavored tequila and pours a couple shots into glasses that hadn't been commandeered for her house of glass.]
Here. To not knowing shit?
[It seems an appropriate thing to toast to.]
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To, uh...not knowing shit.
[Holy crap, he cursed. It's a testament to how much the alcohol is affecting him.]
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Seriously.
[She tosses the shot back, not even noticing how it burns on the way down anymore, and licks her lips to enjoy that chocolaty taste left behind. If she were drunker, she would probably lick the inside of the glass.]
Not sure what's worse, not knowing what's coming and not knowing how to prepare for what I don't know is coming or knowing that I don't know something that I could know but just...don't.
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[Yes, she is proud of her shot-glass house.]
...it's still missing something. I need to make...little people. Out of olives. Or something.
What do you think?
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Mm...out of olives and tooth picks? Might be too big, then. Or you could just draw faces on olives and cherries.
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Wait, what do I draw on them with?
[This bar does not have pens. It's never needed them before but now it does and it doesn't have any. This is a dilemma, Marco!]
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Because I could. And when it's broken I can call myself Ozymandius and be an intelligent drunk.
[It's not a matter of if it breaks, but a matter of when.]
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[If it shatters, Riley's not going anywhere near it. She's had enough close calls lately to last her a while.]
You going to come drink with me or are you just commenting on my architectural genius?
[Okay, so those last few words were slurred but she's proud she's still with it enough to keep up with some witty repartee. Ish.]
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