Qebhet wobbled on her feet, just a little, as she slid off the barstool. She righted herself at once; she wasn't tipsy, not after two drinks— even if the first had been distinctly boozy and the second had gone down a little faster than she'd meant it to. It was just the hour, a long day spent on her feet catching up to her.
She huffed a soft laugh as she passed the dvergar, wrestling and clambering bodily over one another as they competed for primacy of place. Like rowdy children, she thought. Much offered an arm, and Qebhet slipped her own through it, feeling warm. "Where is home for you?"