"Rose," Octavius stretched the name out in such way that it had three syllables. "We aren't talking anymore. She thinks we shouldn't talk anymore, we are broken up."
The words sat distastefully in his mouth.
It occurred to him belatedly that he was lying on an assumably disgusting floor, drunker than he could recall being with the exception of the disastrous trip to Germany (which he was sure still remained the root of his current problems), next to one of his best friends. It was only marginally better than waking up in a barn with hay in his mouth, and that was likely only because Nora was sitting beside him. Nora was so nice. She wanted to talk to him. She didn't make demands of him he didn't understand. They had a very uncomplicated relationship. This wasn't even the first time they had sat (or in his case, lay sprawled because he had temporarily lost even the most basic of motor functions) under a table, and certainly not the last time they'd banded together because the Spinnets had flitted off somewhere. He liked a friend that was okay with doing that. Sitting (or laying) under tables. Like it was the normal thing to do.
There was a rising lump on the back of his head.
"You should stay far away from me," he said morosely. "The last time I was this drunk, I ended up with a wife and kid." His brow crinkled when the sentence came out sounding wrong. "I mean, a goat. He was a baby goat then. He didn't like me very much."
He lifted his arm and stared at it with concern. "Chewed my sleeve right off."
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