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Jordan followed suit. Unhealthy decisions were being made tonight. He exhaled hard and shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and blinking rapidly to fend off the watering. At least it wasn't tears. The first edges of the vivid shuttering slowdown that came with alcohol were starting to make their way into his perception. "That's better," he said.

He poured a little more Sprite into the glass, balanced it out with a little more vodka, and rested the rim of the glass against his teeth for a moment, contemplating the contents.

Vodka in the nose burned. Jordan yelped, sputtered, snorted, put the glass down on the coffee table very carefully, then stared at Robert with narrowed eyes. "One," he said, "you're an a*****e. Two, waste of alcohol. Three, you're an a*****e. Said that already but it was worth repeating." He aimed a halfhearted punch at Robert's arm.

"I think my nose hairs have been permanently burned off. It's like acid, ********," Jordan complained. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, then breathed out hard to get any last vestiges of alcohol out and picked his glass up again, taking another big gulp. "Probably shouldn't even be drinking this, what's it doing to our stomach linings, this can't be healthy."

He eyed Robert's posture, thought about returning the favor. Nah. It would be better to do it later when Robert had forgotten to be careful.

I will make sure you are not sick. But you must drink enough water or I cannot do anything about the headache, Ferros sighed.

"Ferros says he can't fix the headache, so I better drink enough water." Jordan giggled and took another drink. Then he leaned over to refill his drink also. "Man, he's the best weapon. I love my weapon. He's really great."

Thank you, Ferros said, amused.

Jordan sat back against the arm of the couch, tucking one foot under himself and holding his glass with both hands. He regarded Robert thoughtfully through the obscured clarity of intoxication. "You and she, you never talked much, huh?" he asked. "I talked to her while she was in a golem, once." He paused. "Jezebel - sorry I couldn't get that idea to go anywhere. I didn't forget, but it didn't fly."

I'm glad you're not like that, Jordan said to Ferros, a little bemused, catching himself just in time to keep the statement silent. He was pretty sure neither Robert or Jezebel would appreciate it. Aloud, he said, "Sorry, didn't mean to start something."

She should not be cruel to him, Ferros said, disapproving. That is not what we are for.

I'm not going to say that. I think she'd get upset and that'd hurt him again.

It is not what we are for, Ferros repeated sadly.

Jordan finished what was in his glass, huffed a sigh, shook his head in an attempt to clear the lazy slowness inside his skull, and then stretched out slowly and carefully to set the glass down on the coffee table. He took care to make sure that the bottom of the glass was solidly on the table before he let go of it, just in case. He was pretty sure his aim had been good, but he didn't want to risk broken glass all over the floor when he had bare feet.

The glass stayed where it had been put. "Good," he told it, satisfied. Then he picked up one of the bottles of water with the same meticulous care, giving himself a moment to register the cold plastic against his hand to confirm that he had, in fact, grabbed it firmly. When he was sufficiently sure that he had it, he picked it up and sat up to hold it out to Robert.

"Water first, before you have any more," he ordered. "It's my fault you're getting drunk, because I got pathetic and wanted to get drunk, so it's my responsibility to make sure I don't return you sick tomorrow, because one, that would suck, and two, it's my fault you're drunk so it would be my fault you had a hangover, and I don't want Mimsy to get mad at me, because dude, scary. So water first."