Characters: Namiashi Raidou, Shiranui Genma
Warnings: Expletives, drunkenness
Notes: Genma’s probably sixteen, here. This is the last instalment of Perfect Trust (for the moment, anyway), and Genma and Raidou are plastered.
Genma lay on the floor of the room, singing classic Irish hits of the 1940s and 50s, lazily swinging the bottle of Jameson to keep time, and Raidou watched him in equally drunken amusement. "Well it’s the one road, it may be the wrong road. It’s the road to god knows where," he sang, "It’s the one road, it may be the wrong road, but we’re together so who cares?"
"You’re completely shitfaced, aren’t you?" Raidou was hardly one to talk, sitting leaned against the wall for balance, as he was, eyes closed to keep the spinning to a minimum.
"Prob’ly. Need more water. More water and I’ll be fine." While Genma was too drunk to keep a topic of conversation for more than two or three sentences, he had the innate Irish sense to hold off a hangover.
"Put down the Jamie before you spill it. You can’t get up if you’re still holding the bottle." Raidou didn’t even open his eyes.
"Hey, I’m not stupid." Genma reached back over his head and set the bottle on the bookcase. With a slightly nauseated groan, he rolled over onto his hands and knees and rested his forehead against the floor. "Stop the world; I wanna get off."
Raidou snickered. "Do you ever not want to get off? I thought that was just part of you."
"Oh, fuck you. You know what I meant," Genma scoffed, reaching for the doorknob with an intent to use it to stand.
"We’ve already been over this. You don’t get to fuck me. I like girls." The drunker he became, the less restrained Raidou was — verbally, at least.
"I look just as good in a dress," Genma protested, pulling himself to his feet. "And I know enough not to sit in your lap when you’re bitchy."
"You still don’t have tits!" Raidou called after Genma as the latter stumbled toward the kitchen for water.
Genma stuck his face under the faucet in the kitchen sink, letting the water cool him off as he slurped at it, drunkenly. After a few minutes of dull-witted face-rinsing, he stood back up, leaning one hip against the counter for balance while he looked through the cabinets for a large plastic cup. He wasn’t certain he even owned one, but it would be a very good idea, just the same, as he wouldn’t have to keep walking to the kitchen to refill it, and if he knocked it over, it wouldn’t break. He finally settled for a plastic pitcher, filling it from the sink and holding it in both hands as he walked carefully back to his room.
"Water," he announced, resting his back on the doorframe and sliding slowly to the floor, careful not to spill the water, "is absolutely essential." He guzzled a pint off the top and held the pitcher out to Raidou.
"I’m still waiting for the day you pass out and piss yourself from all the water you drink when you’re drunk." Raidou took the pitcher gratefully and drank from it.
"Not gonna happen. Alcohol’s dehydrating. Have to put the water back, you know." Genma had obviously not thought his convictions all the way through — alcohol was dehydrating, but the water it pulled out of the body still had to exit from somewhere.
"Yeah it will. I just hope I’m there to laugh when it does." Raidou took another drink and handed the pitcher back.
"Maybe I’ll just tie a string around it to keep the water in." Genma stopped pouring water down his throat long enough to gaze thoughtfully at his pants.
Raidou laughed so hard he smacked his head on the wall. "I don’t know where you’ve been, my lad, but I see you’ve won first prize," he sang, entirely off-key.
Genma set the pitcher down and rested his head against his knees, cackling helplessly. "Why," he lamented, still snickering, "oh, why do I not own a kilt?"