like seven inches from the midday sun

"Another shot," Alice ordered the barman, "please." He sighed and gave her a concerned look, but placed the drink in front of her anyway. She didn't know why he was so worried - she wasn't that weak when it came to alcohol, and it was not like she was drunk. Not at all.

It never crossed her mind that maybe he wasn't worried about the beverages, but the fact that she'd been sitting there for nearly an hour and hadn't spoken word to anybody except him, and that had been only to ask for more drinks and something to eat.

It didn't even occur to her that she had, in fact, been doing that. She had been too lost in her own mind to notice anything around the pub.

How many glasses was it now? Four or five? Or was it eight? He didn't know, or remember, seeing as he lost count after three continuous shots.

Charles Bass Braginski was getting drunk like it was nobody's buisness.

Though, he was not completely there yet. He had done this way too many times to feel tipsy just by a few glasses. In fact, it was only a week since he had taken a break from alcohol, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Nothing really overpowers this foul taste, does it?" He wondered out loud, glancing at the woman next to him. "It is just as good as nirvana."

Alice slammed the cup on the bar after downing the shot and didn't even bother looking at the bartender, just opening her mouth to ask for something else.

"No," he said before even a word came out of her mouth.

"But Reg, I'm not even drunk!" she protested, rolling her eyes, "I've had, what? Three shots of vodka and a bottle of Firewhiskey? Come on, you've seen me get wasted before, you know it takes more than that."

A warning look shot her way made her sigh and ask for a butterbeer instead. Whoever said befriend caring bartenders was a good idea was obviously very wrong. It didn't matter - she'd just wait until someone else came to take his place.

Glancing at the attractive man next to her, she shrugged. "The more you drink, the less you taste and the better you feel."

Charles raised an eyebrow amusedly at the woman's actions and shook his head. It was not an uncommon scene; people arguing with friendly bartenders thinking it's alright to consume unlimited alcohol.

Then again, that was him once upon a time ago.

"Did someone die or something?" He questioned curiously, almost thinking why the blonde wanted to drink so much. "Or did you just get ditched by someone?" It's not like he cared, but he was getting bored downing shots by himself.

He nodded his head in agreement, "It's true. Just a couple of glasses won't do it anymore, my tolerance level for this shit just keeps rising daily."

Alice took a sip of her butterbeer, the taste of it strange after so many alcoholic beverages. She just wanted Reginald's shift to end and for someone else to come replace him - she didn't think she could spend so much time on butterbeer.

It had been such a long time since she had last gotten drunk - was it so bad to want it once, now?

"Just my parents' heart," she snorted and frowned at herself, "And I think I'm more of the type to eat ice-cream and sob over sad movies when I'm heartbroken. I leave the getting drunk to. . . special occasions."

She nodded, agreeing with his words, "I'm with you. Can't remember getting drunk being so damn hard."

"Sounds like parents' broken hearts is a special occasion," the man smirked and shook his head. "Never had mine around for a long time, so I wouldn't know. But if it makes you feel any better, any relatives as such can be pathetically the worst."

And his family was perhaps on the top of all that.

"Well, a woman who can get drunk hard has always caught my attention," he shrugged and asking for a full
bottle of beer, downed half of it in one go. The last time he drank this out of control did not end well. He even remembered Blair reprimending him for it.

"So where are you from?" He asked, almost hating the mindless questions that seemed to be pouring from his mouth.