[ He views their surroundings - and their drinks - with a touch less suspicion, though the sip of drink he takes is measured and small, a careful tread into unknown waters. If he ends up feeling frisky after a few minutes pass, then they'll know to end the party early and he can go lock himself up in the nearest bathroom while she trots on back home.
For now, he's content to enjoy the laidback atmosphere of the bar and Ema's company, even if one or the other (or both) will surely end up raucous before the night is over. ]
No. I don't usually celebrate my birthday.
[ It's just another day of the week, as far as he's concerned. ]
We celebrated the Captain's birthday though, back on the Grandcypher.
[ And that, quite frankly, had been enough noise and merriment to last him until the next round of celebrations. ]
Oh...? You all must be pretty fond of your captain. I can't imagine having a workplace bash for the Chief of Police.
[ And how about a party at the Prosecutor's Building for Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth? Hee. Heehee. Ema smiles at the thought of Edgeworth coolly showered in confetti. ]
What does a Captain-level birthday entail? Endless vittles and rum?
[ She is still imagining them living like pirates... ]
[ Arr, matey.... If he has his emo fringe instead of an eyepatch covering one eye, does that still qualify him as a pirate?
'Vittles and rum' is such a specific grouping of words that he looks over at her with brows pulled together. What kind of image does she have of skyfaring crews....? But he'll indulge her all the same, digging back in his memory banks for the last birthday party they held. ]
Lots of food, lots of drink. Decorations of all kinds depending on who's in charge. Performances depending on how drunk certain members of the crew get.
[ And many of them do often get drunk, imbibing a little extra in honor of a Captain that still can't indulge because GBF refuses to acknowledge the passage of time when it comes to character ages. He takes an internal check of his body - still the usual temperature, no strange urges rising out of nowhere - before taking another drink. ]
It's always an elaborate affair but none of us mind.
[ Because everyone in the crew is a goddamn simp. ]
[ Sometimes a tiny subsection of your vocabulary was formed by a policeman who was also a fake antiquated cowboy. Also, Eustace's description is doing nothing to disavow her of her pirate-themed notions. ]
Sounds like a lot of fun. It must have been something if even you didn't mind the commotion.
[ Eustace deserves to get his stick dragged out of the mud and into a shipwide party every once in a while. It's nice to imagine him somewhere lively and warm, somewhere that isn't this dead, incongruous island.
It's only been like a minute since they arrived here, but Ema's already impatient to get drinking. Guinea Pig-san still seems to be thinking with their brain and not their crotch, so Ema calls that a success and pulls her mug of beer close. She takes a first swig and doesn't bother trying to be ladylike about it, because Eustace has seen more than enough of her being a slob at the house. ]
So... performances, like a talent show? Did you ever do anything?
[ Hah. Him, performing in front of any kind of audience. Funny joke. It's so funny that his voice is as dry as the desert when he answers. ]
No. I don't perform.
[ What would he do anyway, line up a bunch of shot glasses on the ship's railing and shatter them all into pieces in one smooth sweep of his gun, never missing a single shot? Maybe some on the ship would consider the feat amazing but all he'd consider it to be is a waste of bullets.
He's distracted momentarily by a spot of lingering foam on Ema's cheek and, wordlessly, he passes over a napkin. Just because they live on a deserted island doesn't mean they have to act like backwards neanderthals, for crying out loud. ]
You must have had celebrations with your sister.
[ She'd always spoken about Lana with such warmth that it's hard to imagine the relationship between the two as anything but deeply loving. ]
[ Wow?? What Ema has learned is that Eustace is capable of doing all kinds of surprising things when he's drunk, so why not perform. She's never seen him with his alleged skills on full display, so for all she knows, he could be some Robin Hoodesque crackshot capable of shooting oncoming bullets dead center.
She huffs at his passed napkin, but takes it and blindly dabs her face for whatever is apparently bothering him. Thanks, Mom. Did she even get the spot? Either way, she's already going for a second swig. She ain't getting to buzztown by sitting around and staring at Eustace.
Mention of Lana is an easy ticket to getting Ema to brighten, second only to science itself. She smiles as she leans on the bar and props her cheek on her fist. ]
Oh, yes. She was so busy all the time, but she always made sure to carve out a spot for me on birthdays. Usually, she'd gift me a brand new tool for my forensic kit.
[ The best sister she could ask for, truly. ]
I remember when she gave me my first bottle of luminol testing fluid. I was so happy, I went to sleep that night with it clutched in my little arms.
[ "Little"... like she wasn't only two inches shorter. ]
[ i hate that he could probably do exactly what you described and that is why we had to move on
It's a testament to how much Ema has cemented her love of science as part of her identity that even Eustace's feeble imagination has no problems imagining a child version of her, safely tucked in bed, with a bottle of luminol snug in her arms. Most kids sleep with teddy bears, Ema Skye apparently sleeps with science tools. It's cute, in a weird kind of way, and it's not like he has any room to judge considering what he's slept with as a child.
It's cuter still to see her face flush with good cheer and he's content to watch her quietly for a handful of seconds before continuing on. Since they're on the subject of birthday gifts, it only makes sense to keep heading down that path. ]
Did you want anything [ read: more science paraphernalia ] for your birthday this year?
[ Her sister is not here on the island with them (probably for the best) so someone will have to step in and take her gift-giving place. Also, maybe he just wants to see her smile more. ]
We're out here celebrating, aren't we? That's more than enough for me. And you... have already done enough for me.
[ She takes another good chug of beer... She is doing her best. The first hint of a pleasant buzz is already creeping over her because as Eustace surmised, she is no heavyweight. Her mug clunks a little heavier as she sets it back down.
She turns back and pokes him lightly in the chest. ]
What do you want, huh? You never talk about the things you like.
[ Is him repeating 'peace and quiet' over and over again not enough of an indicator for her of what he wants??
He looks down at her finger at his chest and then over to his drink, still mostly full. All the things he truly wants are the things he can never have, and anything material he could feasibly get on the island seems so inconsequential in the face of everything they have to deal with here.
Carefully, he lowers her hand, and then reaches up to (once again) mess up her hair. Because seeing her with a bird's nest for hair never fails to be funny. ]
Spending time with you is enough.
[ The fact that she still drags him out even though he's about as pleasant company as a sea urchin. The fact that she'd willingly gone out of her way multiple times to help him out, even when she'd had nothing to gain. It all condenses into a small globe of memories tucked away deep in his chest, a better gift than anything material he could ever get.
He realizes he's gone silent, staring not quite at her but through, and takes a (larger) gulp of his drink. ]
But you can buy me dinner next time, if you want.
[ Free food, truly the way to any man's good graces. ]
[ She doesn't attempt to move a single inch to avoid his hairstyle-destroying digits. He seems to like ruffling her hair, she doesn't care (much) if she looks like a crazy person, it's fine. It's one of the rare ways in which he openly shows his affection, so far be it from her to put a stop to it.
And she smiles a little more widely at his answer. It's sweet of him, really, and her sentiment is much the same. Loneliness has always been one of her few real fears in life. Lana was her pillar in that regard back home, even when they were an ocean apart; simply knowing that she had someone out there who cared about her was enough. Slowly, mysteriously, Eustace has managed to occupy that same shape in Ema's life here, and it isn't something she takes for granted.
Phew. She really must be getting old to feel this warm over half a mug of beer. But Eustace gulps down some sake, so she takes that as her cue to gulp down the rest of her mug in one long go and thump it down victoriously. One doesn't become a homicide detective without becoming hardened in other ways, it seems.
She waves the robo-bartender over and signals for a refill. She did vow to make Eustace regret this. When she turns back to him, her face is definitely starting to take on an extra rosy tint. ]
Dinner? Done.
[ Some might even call that.......... a dinner date. Not them, though. They are the friendest of friends. Ema goes back to propping her cheek on her hand, more loosely this time, and she stares idly at some decoration on the wall. ]
Let me ask you something... Have you ever gone on a date? Like, romantically.
[ What is it with everyone on this island and their need to shove their noses into his (nonexistent) love life?
The bubble of warmth he'd felt only moments before bursts immediately, replaced by familiar annoyance. Images of Ilsa and her accursed matchmaking ways loom in his mind, and even though she's been carted off to the hospital for near half a year now, he still feels a chill run down his spine. ]
No. I'm not interested.
[ More than that, he'd never had the time, too busy being run ragged by an endless string of missions. No one wants to date a workaholic. He takes another drink. Begins to regret his decision to commit to sobriety. ]
Have you?
[ Unlike him, Ema is a nice normal person with (mostly) normal interests. Presumably her love life before arriving on the island had been a lot more hopping than his. ]
[ Why does he look so annoyed... Granted, she is long past caring about his bouts of annoyance (if she ever did), but is he getting asked out a lot or something?? It would both surprise her (because of his personality) and not surprise her (because he is literally tall, dark, and handsome).
Has he really never been on a single romantic date, though? He's a jaded old fogey now, but it's depressing to think that he's been like this since his youth. ]
Oh, I suppose I have. [ She squints. ] In retrospect, they didn't ever feel very romantic. Probably my fault. I was always more interested in dissecting the elements of dates than living in them.
[ RIP all the people who tried to romance her... Give her a nice romantic bouquet and she will stick her magnifying glass into it before her nose.
She is rapidly sinking into the chatty stage of her inebriation, so she continues: ]
I didn't have the time to get invested in anyone that way, really. I always had places to go, things to study, fingerprints to dust. I couldn't expect anyone to be willing to follow me around through all that.
[ It's almost alarming how easily he can imagine Ema shoving a magnifying glass into any flower bouquet presented to her. Much harder is imagining her shacked up happily with someone, her usual scathing retorts traded in for pet names. ]
You have time now.
[ Are they on a sex-motivated island filled to the brim with questionable substances and objects, where relationships are doomed before they even begin? Yes, he is reminded of that on a daily basis but the point remains. What the hell else are they going to do with their time here? Not that she sounds all remorseful about the subject right now. It's probably just the alcohol talking, even though she's only had one mug of beer. Incredible.
He downs the rest of his glass to match her then sets it aside, turning so he can devote his full attention to her without the pesky distraction of alcohol. ]
I'm sure someone in this bar would be happy to ask you out if you really wanted.
[ Like their friend Mr. Guinea Pig over there, who has started loudly listing off the attributes he finds attractive in a woman (which are, in order: straight teeth, wide hips, and the ability to lick her elbow). ]
[ Eustace is done for the night, but Ema is still here styling and imbibing. Leaving your drink undrunk is for people who like warm beer, and Ema is not of that barbaric ilk. She takes another good chug and clunks the mug down. ]
Hmph. What do the people in this bar know? I don't need to get asked out by some... bar-lurking drunk-ogler. And I don't trust anyone who leads with a compliment. Especially one about looks.
[ She pointedly ignores the ramblings of Mr. Guinea Pig, who by his criteria isn't attracted to a single woman. Pre-drunk Ema would probably be rethinking her choice of drink if she could see him now. ]
... I probably wouldn't make a very good girlfriend, anyway. People expect their girlfriends to fawn over them and spend all their free time together... Hah! How would I get anything done? I have better things to do than stroke someone else's ego.
[ She is definitely feeling the effects of her rising blood alcohol level now... She droops suspiciously toward her mug before giving it yet another swig. Her SPM (swigs per minute) is only increasing. ]
More importantly, is that what people expect their significant others to do?? The total sum of his relationship experience wouldn't even fill a teaspoon, but that sounds unappealing even to him. Maybe that's why Ilsa's been single so long, if that's the pervading mentality when it comes to the dating scene. He can't imagine her fawning over anyone.
Ema's voice is quickly rising in both volume and speed and Eustace takes a better look at the mug clutched tightly in her hand, which is just as quickly emptying. No more drinks for her after this, even if her drunken soliloquy is charming in its own right. ]
Mm, you would make a terrible girlfriend. [ Hello???? ] Loud. Bossy. Won't shut up about science. I don't envy any man that ends up stuck with you.
[ He is smiling, which should make it obvious that he's joking, but whether that cuts through her alcohol-induced haze remains to be seen. (The real joke is that he's the one stuck with her right now.) ]
[ Jesus. She is not in a state to be parsing pixel-wide smiles right now, so his teasing goes right over her head. She groans and pushes at his shoulder, which only backfires on her with her scant pounds and makes her stool tip dangerously before settling back down with an audible tap. ]
You're not supposed to agree with me! Geez... I'd be a terrible girlfriend, but you'd be an equally terrible boyfriend.
[ She drains the rest of her mug in record time and slams it down before melting off of her stool. She makes it onto her feet more or less upright, but as she turns and starts carelessly pushing her stool flush against Eustace's, a sluggish quality is already starting to permeate her movements... not to mention the full-blown redness of her face.
She climbs back up onto her stool — a more harrowing journey than it ought to be — and prods Eustace as necessary to be able to sit against his side. There's probably still a slight gap between their seats, but she is leaaaning against him anyway with all of her modest mass. And she sighs. ]
I guess that means we deserve each other. Like... [she half-succeeds at drawing a shitty circle around them] a quarantine zone.
[ He's not going to argue her complaints on his dateability, not when they're frankly true.
He does sit upright when her seat totters on its legs, and leans the bulk of his weight onto one foot when she clambers off her seat in case he needs to bolt upright when she inevitably trips over her own foot and lands ass up in the air. But by some island miracle, her machinations end up without so much as a single sprained ankle between the two of them, and it's not long afterwards that she's basically melting into his side. Hm.
It would be easy enough to push her away since she is, as they say, tiny. But Eustace is not immune to the alcohol also circulating through his body, and it feels more pleasant than unpleasant to loiter at the bar like this.
One arm settles around her shoulder, mostly to hold her in place lest she somehow lose her balance and topple off her chair. The other hand motions for their friendly robo-bartender to tally up the check, because they are definitely leaving after this. No more booze for Miss Lightweight and her terrible comparisons over here. ]
Flattering. [ And yet strangely accurate. ] Are you saying we should date each other?
[ Obviously not, because she is drunk as hell right now, but that's what it sounds like. ]
[ She is definitely picturing him sitting across a candlelit table for two, seductively posed with a rose in his mouth. Also, him in a frilly outfit trying to serenade her with a guitar while she watches from the second-story balcony the house doesn't have. ]
What an awful notion. But... oh.
[ She excitedly flops her hand against his arm, and it's a good thing that he's bracing her by the shoulder or else she might wobble off her stool here. Her enunciation is seriously starting to unravel. ]
We could be a married couple ten years in. Waaay past the romantic stuff. Just cruising. It's glorified friendship... scientifically speaking.
[ Those images are horrific, thanks for the nightmare fuel.
Other things that are horrific (to him): her suggestion that they skip past the dating stage and zoom straight into (theoretical) marriage. Even Eustace, poker face extraordinaire, can't stop the look of incredulity that rises to his face at the suggestion. This is definitely their cue to go. ]
And you are very drunk, factually speaking. [ She can barely string two coherent sentences together. ] We're going home.
[ He hops off his stool, keeping one hand pressed against the flat of her back lest she tip over without his support. Though, if she's having enough trouble clinging to balance just sitting in a chair... ]
[ She can't believe he doesn't dig her genius idea that they be retroactively married for ten years? And she frowns at his mandate that it's time to hit the road. ]
We just got here! I'm not very drunk. More like... small to medium drunk.
[ He's already on his feet and raring to go, though. Wobbly as she is, she still has the wherewithal to remember that Eustace is stubborn as hell, so they're both going home even if Eustace has to throw her over his shoulder to get her there. Fine. But she refuses to call it quits after this meager showing. With the inspired coordination of a woman two drinks lighter, she intercepts a shot glass of (something mysterious) that the robo-bartender is passing with and slams it back in one motion.
She slaps the glass back down and looks properly satisfied with herself as she swivels around to face Eustace. She doesn't even make it halfway before she has to use his shoulder as a handrail. To answer his question... ]
Not anymore. I'm legally intoxicated. Or illegally. One of those.
[ There's nothing to say legally intoxicated people can't walk, but whatever. ]
[ He would be impressed by her sheer force of will if it didn't bring her one step closer to puking her guts out.
The weight of his disappointment is great and vast like the ocean that surrounds the Nameless Island—and no doubt bounces right off her as she beams up at him. Regardless of whether or not her statement rings true, he is definitely not letting her walk anywhere like this. Which leaves them with two options: the slightly more dignified option and the extremely undignified option.
Because they are (dubiously) friends and because he doesn't actually wish any ill upon her, he starts with option one. He sticks out one hand. Time for a preliminary test. ]
Squeeze my hand. [ Wait-- ] But don't break it.
[ The fact that she might casually snap off his hand in her drunken stupor is a very real and frightening possibility right now. ]
[ She peers down at his hand and ominously brightens even further. ]
Ooh. The forbidden fruit.
[ She's usually the one who has grab his hands... Now he's freely offering one to her, and that is inexplicably delightful to her. He's probably looking for her to grasp his hand handshake-style, but instead she takes his hand in both of hers and starts delicately squeezing it for its meat, like one would squeeze a fruit to test for ripeness. It is a small blessing that her lightning-blessed strength still seems to be under control, but all bets are off if something happens to startle her.
She slouches a little for a closer look at his hand, apparently deeply absorbed in the minutiae of his calluses, little hand muscles, and so on. Your verdict, Eustace. ]
[ He said squeeze his hand, not carefully inspect it?? What is she even analyzing it for anyway, surely she doesn't believe in mystical fortunes contained in the depths of his palm lines...
But her grip strength seems to be passable and her focus so-so, even if her comprehension seems to be rapidly deteriorating. He can work with that.
Carefully he tugs his hand out of her grip - again, please don't break his hand - before turning around to crouch down in front of her. Please also don't fall off the stool in the five seconds it takes him to do this. ]
Get on.
[ Will she actually understand what he's trying to get at or is he going to have to spell it out for her? ]
[ Well, well, well. First he offers his hand and now he's offering a ride. He is being so nice to her. Right now she is a simple Ema; he says get on, she will do her best to get on. If he told her to do a handstand, she'd try her best at that too (before inevitably crumpling into an embarrassing heap). ]
Yyyessir.
[ She slips off the stool and plops directly onto his back, arms linking around his neck. Immediately forgetting that Eustace is trying to evacuate her from the premises ASAP, she follows her inebriated dreams and takes this moment to turn the maneuver into a hug, her cheek smushing warmly against the side of his head. ]
[ Very surprised her inebriated dreams don't involve her crowing over a complete set of Islander fingerprints, tbqh.
He breathes a silent sigh of relief when her weight ends up on his back and not on the floor. Not that there's all that much of it, as per usual, her frame an easy carry as he lifts back up, fully ready to trudge them both out of the bar and back towards home. Except he makes it two steps forward before their faces are suddenly smushed together.
Her face is warm, the air of her breath soft against his cheek, and it's cute for about two seconds before the heavy reek of beer wafts past his nose and he grimaces. ]
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no subject
For now, he's content to enjoy the laidback atmosphere of the bar and Ema's company, even if one or the other (or both) will surely end up raucous before the night is over. ]
No. I don't usually celebrate my birthday.
[ It's just another day of the week, as far as he's concerned. ]
We celebrated the Captain's birthday though, back on the Grandcypher.
[ And that, quite frankly, had been enough noise and merriment to last him until the next round of celebrations. ]
no subject
[ And how about a party at the Prosecutor's Building for Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth? Hee. Heehee. Ema smiles at the thought of Edgeworth coolly showered in confetti. ]
What does a Captain-level birthday entail? Endless vittles and rum?
[ She is still imagining them living like pirates... ]
no subject
'Vittles and rum' is such a specific grouping of words that he looks over at her with brows pulled together. What kind of image does she have of skyfaring crews....? But he'll indulge her all the same, digging back in his memory banks for the last birthday party they held. ]
Lots of food, lots of drink. Decorations of all kinds depending on who's in charge. Performances depending on how drunk certain members of the crew get.
[ And many of them do often get drunk, imbibing a little extra in honor of a Captain that still can't indulge because GBF refuses to acknowledge the passage of time when it comes to character ages. He takes an internal check of his body - still the usual temperature, no strange urges rising out of nowhere - before taking another drink. ]
It's always an elaborate affair but none of us mind.
[ Because everyone in the crew is a goddamn simp. ]
no subject
Sounds like a lot of fun. It must have been something if even you didn't mind the commotion.
[ Eustace deserves to get his stick dragged out of the mud and into a shipwide party every once in a while. It's nice to imagine him somewhere lively and warm, somewhere that isn't this dead, incongruous island.
It's only been like a minute since they arrived here, but Ema's already impatient to get drinking. Guinea Pig-san still seems to be thinking with their brain and not their crotch, so Ema calls that a success and pulls her mug of beer close. She takes a first swig and doesn't bother trying to be ladylike about it, because Eustace has seen more than enough of her being a slob at the house. ]
So... performances, like a talent show? Did you ever do anything?
no subject
No. I don't perform.
[ What would he do anyway, line up a bunch of shot glasses on the ship's railing and shatter them all into pieces in one smooth sweep of his gun, never missing a single shot? Maybe some on the ship would consider the feat amazing but all he'd consider it to be is a waste of bullets.
He's distracted momentarily by a spot of lingering foam on Ema's cheek and, wordlessly, he passes over a napkin. Just because they live on a deserted island doesn't mean they have to act like backwards neanderthals, for crying out loud. ]
You must have had celebrations with your sister.
[ She'd always spoken about Lana with such warmth that it's hard to imagine the relationship between the two as anything but deeply loving. ]
no subject
She huffs at his passed napkin, but takes it and blindly dabs her face for whatever is apparently bothering him. Thanks, Mom. Did she even get the spot? Either way, she's already going for a second swig. She ain't getting to buzztown by sitting around and staring at Eustace.
Mention of Lana is an easy ticket to getting Ema to brighten, second only to science itself. She smiles as she leans on the bar and props her cheek on her fist. ]
Oh, yes. She was so busy all the time, but she always made sure to carve out a spot for me on birthdays. Usually, she'd gift me a brand new tool for my forensic kit.
[ The best sister she could ask for, truly. ]
I remember when she gave me my first bottle of luminol testing fluid. I was so happy, I went to sleep that night with it clutched in my little arms.
[ "Little"... like she wasn't only two inches shorter. ]
no subject
It's a testament to how much Ema has cemented her love of science as part of her identity that even Eustace's feeble imagination has no problems imagining a child version of her, safely tucked in bed, with a bottle of luminol snug in her arms. Most kids sleep with teddy bears, Ema Skye apparently sleeps with science tools. It's cute, in a weird kind of way, and it's not like he has any room to judge considering what he's slept with as a child.
It's cuter still to see her face flush with good cheer and he's content to watch her quietly for a handful of seconds before continuing on. Since they're on the subject of birthday gifts, it only makes sense to keep heading down that path. ]
Did you want anything [ read: more science paraphernalia ] for your birthday this year?
[ Her sister is not here on the island with them (probably for the best) so someone will have to step in and take her gift-giving place. Also, maybe he just wants to see her smile more. ]
no subject
We're out here celebrating, aren't we? That's more than enough for me. And you... have already done enough for me.
[ She takes another good chug of beer... She is doing her best. The first hint of a pleasant buzz is already creeping over her because as Eustace surmised, she is no heavyweight. Her mug clunks a little heavier as she sets it back down.
She turns back and pokes him lightly in the chest. ]
What do you want, huh? You never talk about the things you like.
no subject
He looks down at her finger at his chest and then over to his drink, still mostly full. All the things he truly wants are the things he can never have, and anything material he could feasibly get on the island seems so inconsequential in the face of everything they have to deal with here.
Carefully, he lowers her hand, and then reaches up to (once again) mess up her hair. Because seeing her with a bird's nest for hair never fails to be funny. ]
Spending time with you is enough.
[ The fact that she still drags him out even though he's about as pleasant company as a sea urchin. The fact that she'd willingly gone out of her way multiple times to help him out, even when she'd had nothing to gain. It all condenses into a small globe of memories tucked away deep in his chest, a better gift than anything material he could ever get.
He realizes he's gone silent, staring not quite at her but through, and takes a (larger) gulp of his drink. ]
But you can buy me dinner next time, if you want.
[ Free food, truly the way to any man's good graces. ]
no subject
And she smiles a little more widely at his answer. It's sweet of him, really, and her sentiment is much the same. Loneliness has always been one of her few real fears in life. Lana was her pillar in that regard back home, even when they were an ocean apart; simply knowing that she had someone out there who cared about her was enough. Slowly, mysteriously, Eustace has managed to occupy that same shape in Ema's life here, and it isn't something she takes for granted.
Phew. She really must be getting old to feel this warm over half a mug of beer. But Eustace gulps down some sake, so she takes that as her cue to gulp down the rest of her mug in one long go and thump it down victoriously. One doesn't become a homicide detective without becoming hardened in other ways, it seems.
She waves the robo-bartender over and signals for a refill. She did vow to make Eustace regret this. When she turns back to him, her face is definitely starting to take on an extra rosy tint. ]
Dinner? Done.
[ Some might even call that.......... a dinner date. Not them, though. They are the friendest of friends. Ema goes back to propping her cheek on her hand, more loosely this time, and she stares idly at some decoration on the wall. ]
Let me ask you something... Have you ever gone on a date? Like, romantically.
no subject
The bubble of warmth he'd felt only moments before bursts immediately, replaced by familiar annoyance. Images of Ilsa and her accursed matchmaking ways loom in his mind, and even though she's been carted off to the hospital for near half a year now, he still feels a chill run down his spine. ]
No. I'm not interested.
[ More than that, he'd never had the time, too busy being run ragged by an endless string of missions. No one wants to date a workaholic. He takes another drink. Begins to regret his decision to commit to sobriety. ]
Have you?
[ Unlike him, Ema is a nice normal person with (mostly) normal interests. Presumably her love life before arriving on the island had been a lot more hopping than his. ]
no subject
Has he really never been on a single romantic date, though? He's a jaded old fogey now, but it's depressing to think that he's been like this since his youth. ]
Oh, I suppose I have. [ She squints. ] In retrospect, they didn't ever feel very romantic. Probably my fault. I was always more interested in dissecting the elements of dates than living in them.
[ RIP all the people who tried to romance her... Give her a nice romantic bouquet and she will stick her magnifying glass into it before her nose.
She is rapidly sinking into the chatty stage of her inebriation, so she continues: ]
I didn't have the time to get invested in anyone that way, really. I always had places to go, things to study, fingerprints to dust. I couldn't expect anyone to be willing to follow me around through all that.
no subject
You have time now.
[ Are they on a sex-motivated island filled to the brim with questionable substances and objects, where relationships are doomed before they even begin? Yes, he is reminded of that on a daily basis but the point remains. What the hell else are they going to do with their time here? Not that she sounds all remorseful about the subject right now. It's probably just the alcohol talking, even though she's only had one mug of beer. Incredible.
He downs the rest of his glass to match her then sets it aside, turning so he can devote his full attention to her without the pesky distraction of alcohol. ]
I'm sure someone in this bar would be happy to ask you out if you really wanted.
[ Like their friend Mr. Guinea Pig over there, who has started loudly listing off the attributes he finds attractive in a woman (which are, in order: straight teeth, wide hips, and the ability to lick her elbow). ]
finally... this icon's time to shine
Hmph. What do the people in this bar know? I don't need to get asked out by some... bar-lurking drunk-ogler. And I don't trust anyone who leads with a compliment. Especially one about looks.
[ She pointedly ignores the ramblings of Mr. Guinea Pig, who by his criteria isn't attracted to a single woman. Pre-drunk Ema would probably be rethinking her choice of drink if she could see him now. ]
... I probably wouldn't make a very good girlfriend, anyway. People expect their girlfriends to fawn over them and spend all their free time together... Hah! How would I get anything done? I have better things to do than stroke someone else's ego.
[ She is definitely feeling the effects of her rising blood alcohol level now... She droops suspiciously toward her mug before giving it yet another swig. Her SPM (swigs per minute) is only increasing. ]
i hope you get a lot of good mileage out of it
More importantly, is that what people expect their significant others to do?? The total sum of his relationship experience wouldn't even fill a teaspoon, but that sounds unappealing even to him. Maybe that's why Ilsa's been single so long, if that's the pervading mentality when it comes to the dating scene. He can't imagine her fawning over anyone.
Ema's voice is quickly rising in both volume and speed and Eustace takes a better look at the mug clutched tightly in her hand, which is just as quickly emptying. No more drinks for her after this, even if her drunken soliloquy is charming in its own right. ]
Mm, you would make a terrible girlfriend. [ Hello???? ] Loud. Bossy. Won't shut up about science. I don't envy any man that ends up stuck with you.
[ He is smiling, which should make it obvious that he's joking, but whether that cuts through her alcohol-induced haze remains to be seen. (The real joke is that he's the one stuck with her right now.) ]
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You're not supposed to agree with me! Geez... I'd be a terrible girlfriend, but you'd be an equally terrible boyfriend.
[ She drains the rest of her mug in record time and slams it down before melting off of her stool. She makes it onto her feet more or less upright, but as she turns and starts carelessly pushing her stool flush against Eustace's, a sluggish quality is already starting to permeate her movements... not to mention the full-blown redness of her face.
She climbs back up onto her stool — a more harrowing journey than it ought to be — and prods Eustace as necessary to be able to sit against his side. There's probably still a slight gap between their seats, but she is leaaaning against him anyway with all of her modest mass. And she sighs. ]
I guess that means we deserve each other. Like... [she half-succeeds at drawing a shitty circle around them] a quarantine zone.
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He does sit upright when her seat totters on its legs, and leans the bulk of his weight onto one foot when she clambers off her seat in case he needs to bolt upright when she inevitably trips over her own foot and lands ass up in the air. But by some island miracle, her machinations end up without so much as a single sprained ankle between the two of them, and it's not long afterwards that she's basically melting into his side. Hm.
It would be easy enough to push her away since she is, as they say, tiny. But Eustace is not immune to the alcohol also circulating through his body, and it feels more pleasant than unpleasant to loiter at the bar like this.
One arm settles around her shoulder, mostly to hold her in place lest she somehow lose her balance and topple off her chair. The other hand motions for their friendly robo-bartender to tally up the check, because they are definitely leaving after this. No more booze for Miss Lightweight and her terrible comparisons over here. ]
Flattering. [ And yet strangely accurate. ] Are you saying we should date each other?
[ Obviously not, because she is drunk as hell right now, but that's what it sounds like. ]
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[ She is definitely picturing him sitting across a candlelit table for two, seductively posed with a rose in his mouth. Also, him in a frilly outfit trying to serenade her with a guitar while she watches from the second-story balcony the house doesn't have. ]
What an awful notion. But... oh.
[ She excitedly flops her hand against his arm, and it's a good thing that he's bracing her by the shoulder or else she might wobble off her stool here. Her enunciation is seriously starting to unravel. ]
We could be a married couple ten years in. Waaay past the romantic stuff. Just cruising. It's glorified friendship... scientifically speaking.
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Other things that are horrific (to him): her suggestion that they skip past the dating stage and zoom straight into (theoretical) marriage. Even Eustace, poker face extraordinaire, can't stop the look of incredulity that rises to his face at the suggestion. This is definitely their cue to go. ]
And you are very drunk, factually speaking. [ She can barely string two coherent sentences together. ] We're going home.
[ He hops off his stool, keeping one hand pressed against the flat of her back lest she tip over without his support. Though, if she's having enough trouble clinging to balance just sitting in a chair... ]
Can you walk?
[ This is a genuine concern right now. ]
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We just got here! I'm not very drunk. More like... small to medium drunk.
[ He's already on his feet and raring to go, though. Wobbly as she is, she still has the wherewithal to remember that Eustace is stubborn as hell, so they're both going home even if Eustace has to throw her over his shoulder to get her there. Fine. But she refuses to call it quits after this meager showing. With the inspired coordination of a woman two drinks lighter, she intercepts a shot glass of (something mysterious) that the robo-bartender is passing with and slams it back in one motion.
She slaps the glass back down and looks properly satisfied with herself as she swivels around to face Eustace. She doesn't even make it halfway before she has to use his shoulder as a handrail. To answer his question... ]
Not anymore. I'm legally intoxicated. Or illegally. One of those.
[ There's nothing to say legally intoxicated people can't walk, but whatever. ]
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The weight of his disappointment is great and vast like the ocean that surrounds the Nameless Island—and no doubt bounces right off her as she beams up at him. Regardless of whether or not her statement rings true, he is definitely not letting her walk anywhere like this. Which leaves them with two options: the slightly more dignified option and the extremely undignified option.
Because they are (dubiously) friends and because he doesn't actually wish any ill upon her, he starts with option one. He sticks out one hand. Time for a preliminary test. ]
Squeeze my hand. [ Wait-- ] But don't break it.
[ The fact that she might casually snap off his hand in her drunken stupor is a very real and frightening possibility right now. ]
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Ooh. The forbidden fruit.
[ She's usually the one who has grab his hands... Now he's freely offering one to her, and that is inexplicably delightful to her. He's probably looking for her to grasp his hand handshake-style, but instead she takes his hand in both of hers and starts delicately squeezing it for its meat, like one would squeeze a fruit to test for ripeness. It is a small blessing that her lightning-blessed strength still seems to be under control, but all bets are off if something happens to startle her.
She slouches a little for a closer look at his hand, apparently deeply absorbed in the minutiae of his calluses, little hand muscles, and so on. Your verdict, Eustace. ]
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But her grip strength seems to be passable and her focus so-so, even if her comprehension seems to be rapidly deteriorating. He can work with that.
Carefully he tugs his hand out of her grip - again, please don't break his hand - before turning around to crouch down in front of her. Please also don't fall off the stool in the five seconds it takes him to do this. ]
Get on.
[ Will she actually understand what he's trying to get at or is he going to have to spell it out for her? ]
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Yyyessir.
[ She slips off the stool and plops directly onto his back, arms linking around his neck. Immediately forgetting that Eustace is trying to evacuate her from the premises ASAP, she follows her inebriated dreams and takes this moment to turn the maneuver into a hug, her cheek smushing warmly against the side of his head. ]
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He breathes a silent sigh of relief when her weight ends up on his back and not on the floor. Not that there's all that much of it, as per usual, her frame an easy carry as he lifts back up, fully ready to trudge them both out of the bar and back towards home. Except he makes it two steps forward before their faces are suddenly smushed together.
Her face is warm, the air of her breath soft against his cheek, and it's cute for about two seconds before the heavy reek of beer wafts past his nose and he grimaces. ]
Are you sure you had enough to drink?
[ Don't actually answer that. ]
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