Two Months Later

"Another drink, then?"

Eric was too drunk to even look up at the bartender in front him. His brain whirled around in its crater, producing so much nausea that he could only manage to weakly nod.

After having his living soul scared out of his body two months ago, you'd think the promise of "fire and blood and anguish" would've been enough to set him straight. To be clear, it wasn't. Now Eric was not only just a drunk anymore- he was a chronically depressed drunk.

A dull clack on the wooden countertop assured him that his goblet of poison has arrived. Swishing the oily liquid in its container, he just put it to his lips before he'd noticed a blurry figure sit next to him. Even though he couldn't see anything, he felt a familiar stabbing gaze dig into him as the figure turned to his direction.

It released a sigh of disappointment. "God, you're squiffy."

"Sheila?" Eric wanted to ask. "Schmneena?" Eric actually asked.

"Jesus Christ, you are squiffy." Then she did something or said something and he felt a cup get pushed into his hands, drops of liquid spilling over the edge and staining his dry skin. "Drink this."

He drank it. "Oh my god, that's so good. What is it?"

"Water."

He drank a cup, then another, then another. Soon he was about as sober as someone could be after eight drinks. That is, not very sober, but he could now formulate sentences and kind of make out the sharper features of Sheila's appearance. Wait-

"Sheila, why are you at the palace bar?"

If he was sober enough, seeing her face turn the colour of strawberries would give him the sense not to trust what she said next. He wasn't sober enough though.

"Uh... the m-music?"

That sounds completely reasonable, Eric thought. "That sounds completely reasonable," he said.

They resumed their habits, Eric gulping at his cup, Sheila sipping at hers.

"Eric, you don't look good."

"Is it my colour?"

"More like the alcohol in your liver."

He sighed. "Yeah, I'm not good."

Sheila hesitated pressing her absolutely hammered brother after only just seeing him again. "So, uh... our parents kicked you out, huh?" She asked, steering the conversation in another direction.

"Yep," he bitterly replied into his drink. "Something about being a failure and bringing shame on the family."

A worse direction, she thought. Their family didn't exactly leave off on a good note, so needless to say there weren't so many topics she could connect with her brother on since then. She racked her brain for something else to say, as if she was chatting with a stranger and not her brother.

"What have you been doing?"

"Drinking."

"Well I see that. I mean, how have you been living? Where are you getting the money?"

Eric miserably sank into his hands, making Sheila cover her mouth in shock as the two dots fused in her mind. "You didn't knock up another girl, did you?"

"Shush! Of course not, don't be daft," he muttered, looking around to see if anyone heard, even though he couldn't tell among the blurred faces. "Gerald."

"Oh," Sheila grumbled.

"Yeah."

"You still see him?"