AMALIA
you're staring at the sky
watching stars collide
Amalia is not accustomed to people sleeping in alleys. She is particularly unaccustomed to people sleeping in temples- at least, not people who are stone-cold drunk, passed out and lucky not to be soaked in his own urine. Wrinkling her nose distastefully as he shifts and struggles to sit, the baker begins to rethink this idea- but it's too late to recant now.watching stars collide
Adam stands, though not very well, and Amalia takes a halting step back, trying to give him some space. As he sways, she reaches out to stabilize him, taking the horn into her left hand and gripping his shoulder with her right. "Please don't vomit on me," she mutters through clenched teeth, trying to ease him onto her shoulder, to support a bit of his shockingly limited weight.
She takes a first step, leading him on, trying to shrug her shoulder beneath his arm, to hold on supportively to his waist. "Yes," the girl replies dryly, "This is all part of my clever ploy to get you into my bed." Which, in a sense, is true: the baker has every intention of setting him down among the blankets, getting him to sleep off his dismally inebriated state. "What happened, anyway? Why are you so drunk?"
