pour one out for our ghosts

zephyr

You really ought to take her advice and shut up. The violence against the whiskey was your first warning, your brown eyes tracking the arc through the air. "Hey," you protest weakly, already mourning its absence even though you've easily drunk enough by this point to drown a small child.

Certainly enough to drown your own common sense, and any chance you had at salvaging this mess.

Knitting your brows together in puzzlement you shake your head. "'Grets? I don'... I don' got 'grets. Nottabout you." Absolutely not heeding her warning to shut your stupid mouth, you straighten up as well as you can and fix her with a bemused look. "I'm scared'a you. You scare me. Yer like- fuck, Vai, yer like th' sun. Hot as fuck an' bright an' gorgeous an' you make me feel all stupid an' warm an' I'm pretty sure I'm gonna burn up if I stay too close, or that, that yer gonna disappear."

Running a hand through your hair you pull away from her fully, suddenly very self-aware of your own inebriated state. "What I mean is- fuck. I dunno what I mean. Yer right. I oughta shut up." Little bit late on the uptake there, moron, but better late than never.

burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save