First is not yet so drunk that he cannot read the subtext there; she is clever enough; it remains to be seen if you are. But he takes no offense, and does nothing but grimace faintly, and expression that could very well be due to the sharp taste of the alcohol. By the fifth shot he has begun to forget what it was they argued about, and when Unwelcome lands on his shoulder he does not flinch -- snorting a laugh when the rook nibbles the edge of one of his ears in an affectionate 'kiss.' He will talk about nothings, about weapons and fights and weather, the usual back-street sort of gossip .. until sometime after the sixth or seventh shot, when the bottle is close to empty, and he will trail off into sleep.
Outside, Last sits on the stair, feet propped up on the railing and arms folded over his chest. He has lapsed in and out of silence, keeping Oberon company; complimenting him on his new swishy tail, or complaining lazily about what an idiot his brother can sometimes be, even though people think he's the clever one. Mostly he is just bored and tired and ready for whatever fight is going on in his flat to be over so that he can go to bed. "Wonder what it felt like to grow a tail," he is saying out loud, regarding the Guardian curiously. "I mean .. you go all this time with this twitchy little stub-thing, and then bam, you got something that flips and curls and all that."
By this point the carrots are well and truly gone, and where First had the run of their little cabinet upstairs, Last had to make do with a jug from a tavern on the corner. Beside the jug there is a large shallow bowl, where he tried to share the beer with Oberon.
