*
"What wash that?" Blurted out a very intoxicated Mikhall as he lurched over to the side of the tower and stared blankly into the courtyard.
Aeros, who was nowhere near as drunk as he was pretending to be, quickly stepped next to the young man and pulled him away from the tower's ledge. "You know shomthin'," he slurred heavily. "I think you're drunk! 'Cause I din' hear nothin'." Aeros then took another imaginary pull from the bottle and smacked his lips noisily. He glanced at Mikhall with an appropriately approving look before declaring, "You're drunk!" once again.
Mikhall staggered away from his superior officer with a curious expression. "But, I could've shworn..."
"Hey! No shwearin' on duty. Or I'll put'choo on report, mithter." Aeros said stabbing Mikhall in the chest with his finger.
The young man lurched back as if mortally wounded. "On no," he hiccuped. "Anything but that!"
They both fell into gales of laughter. Mikhall snatching the bottle away from Aeros as they did so.
Mikhall then made a serious attempt to inhale the remaining dwarven ale in one long pull, succeeding mainly in spilling most of it down the front of his dress uniform. Nevertheless, when finished, he stood up very straight, very suddenly as the alcohol slammed into his system at full speed. His head lolled from side to side while the empty bottle fell to the floor with a clatter, forgotten. Mikhall opened his mouth to say something but cut himself off with a very long and disgusting belch. Mikhall's eyes rolled back in his head until only the whites were showing before he pitched forward, landing face first on the stone floor of the lookout tower.
Aeros knelt next to the young man to make sure that he was still breathing. Then, smiling slightly, he placed the bottle in Mikhall's hand and casually walked away.