Mollymauk leans against the wall of the building.
He isn't sure how he made it outside, only knows that he’d needed fresh air and then, boom, fresh air. He is sure, however, that if he stands without support he's going to fall over.
He's amazingly drunk. He's drunk to the point of forgetting why he wanted to be drunk in the first place. It's fabulous. It's the best type of drunk to be.
The door leading into the inn opens, and Molly just moving his head makes it spin delightfully and makes some of his jewelry clink together.
“Hey.” Fjord stands there, steps in front of Molly. “Saw you leave.”
“Yup. I am outside.” And wow, Molly's really slurring his words. His hangover’s going to be fantastic.
“Didn't want t’ leave you alone, in case you needed help getting back upstairs.” Fjord’s drawl is soft, thicker than it usually is. Maybe Molly's just drunk, though.
“I am good.” What was Molly trying to escape from? Now he’s really unhappy he’s drunk.
He remembers a battle. He remembers darkness. He remembers the right now but not anything in between now and falling.
“You’re clearly not.”
“Don’t fight me on this.” Pushing away from the wall, Molly intends to storm off down the street.
He falls instead, and is thrown into the sudden headspace of I am going to die.
Fjord catches him. “Hey, easy there.”
Molly grabs at Fjord’s chest. His claws meet leather armor. He just wants fabric to grip, goddammit.
“I’m gonna die.” The words wrench themselves out of Molly’s throat.
“You’re not gonna die.” Fjord sounds just a bit exasperated. “You’re just really fuckin’ wasted.”
In one motion, Fjord sweeps Molly into a bridal carry and takes him back into the inn. Molly curls into Fjord’s grip, ignoring the questioning stares of their companions.
Their shared room is dark, quiet.
“I’m gonna get you some water, okay?” Fjord’s voice is soft.
He’s asleep before Fjord gets back.