Whosh drunk? I'm not *hiccup* drunk, ociffer... Who: Counterfeit, Elixir What: Drunk boys will be boys When: Sunday evening, Jan. 9th Where: Haven Warnings: TBD
Bryan's words had been slurred for the last fifteen minutes or so. He was sprawled next to Josh on an elegant couch in the less transited second floor rec room, which was much more sober and like a lounge than the ground floor hi-tech one. He had somehow come into possession of some very fine Scotch from Charles Xavier's private stash. He wasn't telling how he got his hands on it, but it was quite possible that he might have accidentally on purpose happened to be around when old Cooper was keying in the combination to the cellar door, which thanks to his mimicry powers, meant his muscle memory now knew the combination, even though he couldn't recite the numbers themselves. His hand had known what to do.
In any case, he found out Josh was taking a break from healing because of some sort of snafu with a patient who'd teleported into the infirmary or something, so he thought he'd had enough of sad goodbyes and they should get drunk as skunks tonight. That had been the plan, and Josh had been amenable, so here they were. Drunk.
"I think. Uh. What d'I think? Oh, yeah! I think us men," he said, fixing to go on another rant. He was sounding pretty impaired by now, and yet he managed to gesture with the hand holding the clearly expensive crystal goblet that held his liquor without spilling a drop. "We gotta stick together. Yannow?"