01-13-2021, 03:23 AM
Great. Yet another drunk within the group. At least Cory had the decency to be dignified about it, meanwhile Riftweaver was here stumbling around like a damn fool. It made Michael want to drink again just so that he wouldn't have to worry about stupid things like this. He hadn't had a drink in a few weeks, though, and he didn't intend to waste his occasional treat on Rift's behavior. Instead, he just made his way over with a frown tugging at his muzzle, his tone harsh as he spoke directly to the other male, "You look like an idiot right now. And Eulia's right... you smell horrible." Maybe if this was Riftweaver's first infraction, the dealer would've been a little less harsh. Unfortunately, it wasn't. Not with drinking, but Rift had been drifting about and doing stupid shit for weeks now, and it was honestly an embarrassment. The other should've considered himself lucky that Goldie didn't retain her usual memories and personality, or she probably would've been knocking some sense into him. Not literally, obviously, but with that firm and disappointed way she used to utilize.
The bobcat then winced as the bottle shattered against the ground, a soft hiss of displeasure leaving him as he made his way over. He began to sweep the shards up carefully with his paws, voice low as he muttered to the crowd that was gathered around, "Can someone get him back to his home? Or at least get some coffee in him, please? At this rate, he's aiming to get himself a concussion – or someone else." He shot a disapproving glare in Rift's direction, making the sticky shards of glass into a small pile to soon be disposed of. It was odd, feeling like the disapproving adult in a situation when he had spent most of his life as just an out of control kid, eager to do and take whatever he could. Things had changed since he had joined The Typhoon, though, and especially since he had his pups. He had a much more solid sense of responsibility these days, something that Riftweaver was clearly in need of.
The bobcat then winced as the bottle shattered against the ground, a soft hiss of displeasure leaving him as he made his way over. He began to sweep the shards up carefully with his paws, voice low as he muttered to the crowd that was gathered around, "Can someone get him back to his home? Or at least get some coffee in him, please? At this rate, he's aiming to get himself a concussion – or someone else." He shot a disapproving glare in Rift's direction, making the sticky shards of glass into a small pile to soon be disposed of. It was odd, feeling like the disapproving adult in a situation when he had spent most of his life as just an out of control kid, eager to do and take whatever he could. Things had changed since he had joined The Typhoon, though, and especially since he had his pups. He had a much more solid sense of responsibility these days, something that Riftweaver was clearly in need of.
— Reggan