Mal-Wash, kinda OOM.

[badinlatin]

Mal loves his flask.

A lot.

It's so pretty, all inscribed with random patterns - intricate ones - of dents and scrapes, scuff marks and chips. And reflecting under the scant light of the stable lamps, the discolored silver throws of interesting oil-slick patterns.

For such things are interesting when it's your second flask full. And there's a bottle by your side you haven't touched yet.

Mal is grouchy.

Comments

[badinlatin]

"Yup. Me too. Ain't near you yet though, so we should be alright with it."

Mal stands. A bit wobbly, but he stands.

"Can you get up?"

[flybywash]

"You were drinking b'fore I even came in," he protests.

But he plants both hands on the cot, sets his good foot firmly, and hefts himself up.

Frantic flailing to grab Mal's shoulder soon follows. He has enough trouble balancing properly without his crutches when he's stone-cold sober.

[badinlatin]

Mal attempts bracing himself to keep Wash vertical, but both Wash and Mal end up sitting back down on the cot.

"Well. That didn't work."

[flybywash]

"Crutches," Wash decides. "'S why I've got 'em."

He makes a grab for them.

The next attempt to stand goes...about the same, but this time, Wash manages to splay the crutches wide enough apart to keep himself upright.

"There!"

He looks far too proud of himself right now.

[badinlatin]

Mal stands a bit easier as well, once Wash is upright.

He leaves the bottle, now down to its dregs, sitting next to the cot.

"Off we go, then."

[flybywash]

And you don't want to know how long it takes them to get back to the bar like this.

Really.

It's not like they're going to know how long it took in this state, either.