Zavien
Strike hands with me. The glass is brim.
The dew is on the heather.
The next round of beers go down easier than the first, tasting more like water by the second. Unlike with water, Zavien is now very drunk rather than overly hydrated. He's had nine? ten? twenty? beers? And a few shots? Eh? What does it matter? (At this point, very little.)The dew is on the heather.
A sunburnt flush has taken residence on his face, his words running into each other like they're in a competition for loudest or fastest, no one knows. One arm is propped on the bar, gripping his (insert ambiguous number here) beer, while the other has firmly claimed Pip like a security blanket.
It feels like they've been talking about Soh all night, and yet that's probably just the muddling of his mind, because he could have sworn they just had a conversation about whether Safrin would approve a quest for a dick shaped sword (they agreed that was more of a Sex Frey quest). So, when Koa finally brings up Soh again, Zavien throws his head back. "Duuuude. Igetit. Like, Iwasssn'teventheonewhoasskedLenaout. I wassooooscared." He laughs loudly, throwing down more of his beer in a practiced motion. As he swallows, he shakes his head, his longer-than-usual hair flopping to the side. "But, ya' knowwhat?" Leaning forward, he glances around like someone might catch his secret, even though he still says it loud enough for all to hear. "Bein'inlove'ssooomuchworser." His face scrunches in confusion. Is 'worser' a word?
Regardless, Zavien plows on. "I caretoomuch, ya' know? Like, I'mscaredt'lose 'er." He shrugs his shoulders, flopping his head onto his hand and pushing out his drink, a sunny, unfocused look on his face. "But thashowIknowIlove 'er, ya' know?"
And love is good, and life is long,
and friends are best together.
and friends are best together.
