"Zacharias?" Mrs. Eclaire took another bite of chicken, her free hand pressed thoughtfully against her cheek as she chewed. "No, I can't say I've seen any sort of marked change in the child…" she trailed off, brow furrowing as she thought hard. "N—well let me think—nope, nothing really stands out, from what I remember. Why do you ask?"

"Eve addressed a few concerns to me during the Parade that I thought should be looked into. Perhaps she's reading too far into things." Arthur sipped his ale and humphed. "Still, maybe the two of us should keep a closer eye on him. After all, these citizens lived years under the effects of drugs, for lack of a better term. It wouldn't surprise me one bit if there were a mood-changing side effect that came with the withdrawals."

"But we've not had a Story in years!" Patty protested as she dipped her roll in the juices left from the chicken on her plate. "Surely by now—" Arthur cut her off with a single shake of his head.

"It's a well-known fact that some of the more potent drugs have effects that last years, even decades after they stop entering the bloodstream. It's one of the reasons I still keep tabs on the citizens that decided to return to their old lives… I want to make sure that if something were to happen, I could get in touch with them all and get the proper help underway. It would be my fault they had these aftereffects." He frowned down at his plate.

"Oh. I see." Patty finished her roll and downed the rest of her wine in two gulps. "Really, you can't blame yourself. We all signed up for it, and if it's as well-known as you say, we should have known that side effects were possible. So it's not entirely your fault, right?"

"If that's what you think." He looked up at the clock. "Well, I suppose that I should make my speech before they're all too drunk to understand what I'm saying. It grows late." He stood, offering to take the baker's plate from her and disposing of them both into a nearby trash bin before making his way towards the platform. He'd known earlier today what he wanted to say, but now he was second-guessing himself. He climbed the stairs slowly, his arthritis flaring as he finally made it to the top and looked out over the tops of the crowds. One of the knights' captains was idly leaning against the platform and he motioned to him.

"My good sir, if you please—" He motioned at the crowd, who was so busy with their fun that they hadn't even noticed him on the platform yet. The captain looked up at him blankly before coming back to himself. He jumped to attention, the beer in his chalice sloshing and spilling over the edge of the platform, staining the wood a dark color.

"OI! EVERYONE!" he shouted, his voice booming out across the Courtyard. "THE STORYTELLER'S ABOUT TO GIVE HIS SPEECH!" Those who heard turned and shushed those who somehow hadn't, and soon the entire space was silent and listening. Arthur looked over the crowds, picking out faces that he'd seen every day for so many years. His throat tightened with emotion; he loved his city and its people, he'd loved creating their Story, he'd loved watching them go from despondent everyday citizens to happy, bustling medieval townspeople. It had given him a purpose in life beyond that of helping his daughter: with Labyrinthia, he had felt as though he might actually be doing some good in the world.

"My dear, dear Labyrinthians," he began, clearing his throat and forcing back the tearful sentiment that grew within him. "Tonight marks the fifth anniversary of my death, and subsequently my life. Without the events that transpired on the eve of the last witch trial, and the dawning of the next day, I would have never known that I was leading a shadow of and existence. When I became so caught up in everyone's happy ending, I forgot that I was missing the fulfilment of my own."

He looked over and saw Espella standing next to Patty, her cat on her shoulder and hands clasped loosely before her as she listened with a serene smile. She looked so much like her late mother when she made that face; it only tugged at his heartstrings more, and he'd be damned if he were to cry like an old man in front of the entire town. He looked away, seeing Eve standing close to one of the fountains, arms crossed as she also watched him. Her expression was more serious than her younger friends. He had her to thank for waking him up from his writing stupor; he felt as though he could never apologize enough for putting her through such a tremendous burden as he had.

"T-that is why we celebrate on this evening, my friends." He turned his attention back to the townspeople waiting so patiently for his speech. "We must never forget our own dark history. Though we 'live it up' in gaiety, so to speak, at the same time I must ask that you remember our situation only five short years ago. Where were you? Many of you were at the Court, learning the truth about your town from a man who had just died a few hours prior. Some of you weren't born yet. Some of you were only small children. Many of the people there that night have moved on, either through death or by returning to the life they'd once left behind after signing a little piece of paper."

A murmur of agreement ran through the people, and then was followed by a new chorus of 'shh!" as they grew too loud. His eye caught Zacharias, standing with a crowd of his knightly comrades. Their eyes met and he felt himself smiling reassuringly.

"And some of you were even the accused; if not that night, than so many nights prior." He spread his arms out as though trying to embrace them all. "How far we have come since then!" The murmur rose to a roar as the crowd shouted their exuberant concordance. "And so, in conclusion, my friends, I ask that you remember this one thing. We rang in a new dawn with that bell, and it is that bell that we'll ring a new dawn in tomorrow. Please remember that each day is a new dawn. No matter what is going on in your life, the rising of the sun shines a bright new beginning for each and every one of you. It is only up to you to seize it. I thank you, and ask that you enjoy this evening." He bowed and was graced with a standing ovation as the town cheered and applauded.

"Wow, Dad!" Espella gushed when he was back at Patty's side once more. "That was very… motivational!" He inclined his head in gratitude.

"I wished for it to be so. I can only hope you young ones will take an old man's advice…" he sighed, searching for Zacharias or Eve in the crowd and finding neither. Espella followed his eyes, trying to see what he looked for, but turned back to him when he spoke again. "I also meant that you should be awake for the coming of the new dawn, so don't drink yourself to sleep this year." He was all fatherly disapproval now, staring down his nose at her. She blushed and waved his words off.

"Don't worry, don't worry," she promised, crossing her heart. "I had such an awful headache last year that I don't dare drink half as much. Aunt Patty wasn't at all sympathetic, either," she complained. "I lost count of how many times you banged your rolling pin down on the counter, or slammed the oven door." Arthur couldn't help but laugh at this; it sounded much like something the fiery baker would do.

"Serves you right," the woman in question retorted smartly. She crossed her arms, nose in the air. "I told you two not to overdo it, but what did I see? I could barely get you out of bed and Zacharias was dragging his feet like his armor was ten tons heavier. And on a day that's supposed to be solemn and dignified," she tsked, shaking her head.

"But you're drinking right now!" Espella exclaimed, pointing to the refilled chalice of wine. Aunt Patty looked down at it before arching a brow imperiously at her charge.

"Young lady, there's a high difference between drinking in moderation and pure cavorting." Arthur was beside himself with laughter now as Espella pouted, tugging the end of her braid as she tried to find a suitable argument and came up short.

"Dad, you're supposed to take my side," she finally mumbled. Arthur got himself under control and wiped his eyes where a few tears of mirth leaked out around the wrinkles.

"How can I when I agree with her? I'm not one for boozing and carousing." He paused as Mrs. Eclaire shot him a measured glance. "Well, I'm not anymore," he amended. "In my day I could hold my liquor tolerably well, I suppose. But we should let the children have fun, Patty," he said gently. "I don't mind them having this day for a little innocent partying."

"There's nothing innocent about it!" All three of them turned around to see Ms. Primstone standing behind them. The (former) Judge also stood there, listening raptly to the conversation with tankard in hand. The teacher was nearly quivering with righteous indignation as she swung her baton around and nearly smacked the poor Judge in the side of the head.

"Hmm?" the Judge turned to her, as if only now noticing that she was there. "Whatever do you mean?" He took a drink, his beard glistening wetly in the light of the torches.

"W-whatever do you mean?!" she repeated in a sputtering tone. The primary teacher puffed up her chest, looking like a goose about to attack a wayward child down by the river. She adjusted her glasses. "Dearie, dearie me!" she sighed, as if having to lower herself to accept the fact that not everyone thought of the worst-case scenario first. "Dearest Judge, take it upon yourself to study what I am about to tell you. It will be on the test."

"Sure. Whatever you say," he agreed with his usual idyllic cheer. Ignorance is bliss, Arthur thought to himself, feeling the old saying was appropriate. Ms. Primstone sniffed and flicked her baton in an upwards motion, assuming the 'lecture' pose.

"Young ladies and gentlemen are perfectly genteel at all times, unless they have procured copious amounts of inebriating drink. Inhibitions lower, the mind grows woozy, and all sorts of lewd, unwarranted thoughts arise in the wake of a night 'on the town'. Without proper supervision, these darling youths—" Here she poked the baton gently to Espella's cheek, causing the girl to flinch back instinctively, "—are subject to all sorts of improper conduct. Correct me if I'm wrong, Mr. Storyteller, but is it not so?" she finished, eyelashes fluttering.

"Um… you're not wrong, Ms. Primstone," Arthur allowed. "But at the same time—" He was trying to find a delicate phrase, but he was interrupted.

"What sort of nonsense is that?!" Patty snipped, tilting her head. "Of course youngsters are going to get into a little trouble when they're drunk, but it's a natural part of the course of life, isn't it?" she said, posing her question to Arthur as well. "All you can do is close your eyes to it and hope they have enough sense to keep…" she glanced at Espella, who was listening attentively, "things from happening as a result."

"It's not nice to refer to babies as things, Aunt Patty," the girl pointed out. Her father and her guardian glared at her; she wilted beneath their combined gaze. "I'm twenty-three," she pointed out quietly. "I'm not completely ignorant of what happens."

"Hush, child." Patty smacked her hand lightly and she obediently bit her lip. "This is a conversation you shouldn't even be a part of. Go find Eve—no, go find Jean or Lettie. On a night like tonight, 'tis best you stay with girls your own age." It might have been a trick of the firelight, but she looked like she might have been blushing. "Eve's most likely got her own manners to attend to." Espella scoffed indignantly.

"Why can't I go be with Eve? She's my best friend!"

"Because she's a responsible, mature young woman and you're still a child. Now get." She smacked her lightly on the backside as the girl huffed before stomping off. "That only proves how ignorant you are still!" she called after her, clucking and taking another drink of wine. "Now, Ms. Primstone," she continued, turning back to look up at the bony woman. "You were saying?"

"You were just saying that it was perfectly alright to let the youth of this town walk about in pure promiscuity and…and…debauchery!" she exploded, throwing up her hands. Her eyes widened and she brandished the baton in Mrs. Eclaire's face. "You're—you're—you're a woman of loose morals!"

Arthur felt the air change immediately and gulped. Patty's mouth, which had been turning down further and further into a frown during the woman's tirade, was now a complete glower. She sat her tumbler down on one of the eating tables, pulling off her mittens one by one and setting them next to it. Her eyes narrowed, but Ms. Primstone was either not about to back down, or didn't sense the danger.

"You dare to say that I am a woman of loose morals?" Patty spoke in a tone of the utmost calm. "I didn't raise that child to be as good and as sweet as she is with loose morals, and I'll be damned if some walking skeleton with a powdered wig is going to stand there and tell me that I'm immoral!" she ended on a shout. "Patricia Gallaher isn't anything if not virtuous!"

"Patricia?" The Judge repeated, brow wrinkling in confusion.

"Gallaher?" Ms. Primstone added, her tone derisive. Arthur said nothing as Mrs. Eclaire blinked twice, her mind catching up to her mouth. She cleared her throat, backing away from where she'd been trying to loom over the teacher, and brushed off the front of her apron.

"Aye. I'm Patricia Gallaher," she announced, though she sounded almost as bewildered as the Judge. "And unlike some folks around here, I managed to nab me a husband, so I wouldn't say much about anything if I were you." She tossed her head, but her short hair took away from the overall effect.

"Well I never!" Ms. Primstone's cheeks flushed darkly and she looked as though she might start brandishing the baton as a real weapon rather than a threat of corporal punishment. Arthur took this moment to jump in, seeing as the Judge was clearly rather interested in watching than breaking the two women apart.

"Come on now, Patty," he said soothingly, taking her shoulders. "Let's not get overexcited." He leaned in closer. "There's always a chance that Espella's still watching." This had the desired effect, and the woman pursed her lips once more at the primary teacher before picking up mittens and chalice both and stalking moodily through the crowd. Arthur bowed to the Judge and teacher both before following her, discreetly wiping his brow. He was getting far too old to be tearing apart angry women. Where were those young, agile knights when you needed them?

Dong…dong…dong…dong…. Eve looked out at the graying light of dawn, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. She'd had enough wine to give her a buzz, and then a few drinks beyond that to help her forget her concerns for a bit. After all, if it was sanctioned as a holiday, why couldn't she enjoy it? She didn't need any stupid redhead mucking up her thoughts and making her question her own emotions.

She sat on a hillock just inside of the town gates, watching the bell tower from afar. She'd left the Courtyard after 3:00 with the intentions of going home, but found herself wanting to stay and hear the bell. So now she sat demurely in her half-drunken stupor, still alert enough to understand where she was and what she was doing without having to worry about all those extra, needless details. The bell caught the light as it swung back and forth in its peals, temporarily blinding her with each forwards movement.

She listened in satisfaction and then rested more on the hillock, happy enough in her current state that she didn't mind the dew alighting on the ground around her; it dampened her clothes, but not her spirits. She heard the bustle from the Courtyard disperse as stragglers began to head home with light hearts, never minding the fact that when they woke up later they'd have horrible hangovers. She'd seen a few young couples staggering together in the direction of the forest—no doubt later they'd be coming back red-faced, preparing for a sharp scolding from their mothers but still smiling like fools as they held hands.

She frowned, pulling her knees up to her chest as she wobbled on the uneven surface of the ground. Why'd she have to think that? Now it made her wonder what it would be like to hold some man's hand and walk along to face the music, feeling guilty for having worried her family but entirely unrepentant for the time spent in the woods doing everyone-knows-what. She didn't have anyone like that in her life, though lately she'd seen a few men giving her second glances as she walked the streets. But she couldn't think of anyone that she even felt particularly interested in, except—no, she wouldn't even think it.

"E-Eve?" Rolling her eyes towards the heavens, she made a silent plea that the voice calling her name belonged only to her imagination. Surely she couldn't be a psychic, calling him with her thoughts. But no, there was the bane of her existence—well, perhaps bane was too harsh a word. After all, he hadn't really done anything to deserve her discredit, other than behave strangely. It wasn't as if he'd asked that she take a fancy to him. "Hey, Ev-ve," he called, drawing out her name to the point that he sounded completely idiotic. He didn't even add the polite "Miss" now.

She turned around to tell him off, her buzz adding fuel to her anger rather than allowing her to be carefree. She would have liked to be as easy in the breeze as Espella, but even all tuckered up she couldn't catch a break. Just my luck, she thought, and somehow the mental notion made her even angrier. Not to the point of breaking things and screaming at the top of her lungs; it was more a strange, irrational frustration that boiled her blood and made her want to slap the scar off his stupid face.

He stood on the path, swaying lightly, almost in time with the bell. The sun played off his hair, lighting some parts scarlet and some parts orange as the cool morning breeze ruffled the unkempt locks into further tangles. He'd taken off his armor after the Parade and his clothing was now disheveled, jacket hanging awkwardly off one shoulder and tie untied, dangling loosely around his neck. There was a grass stain on his shirt and one clasp of his sandal was unclasped, flopping loosely around his ankle. She looked him over, wondering how he'd gotten into such a state in the first place. Most likely those knights were play-fighting in a drunken rout and he'd gotten himself dirtied up; it wouldn't have been the first time something like that had happened.

"Is this where you've been?" he continued on, his words slurring somewhat. It was clear that he wasn't quite himself just from his facial expression alone, which was locked in a sort of loose vivacity that put a strange gleam in his eye. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Why'd you leave so early?"

"What do you want?" she asked, somewhat warily. Her tone must have been sharper than she meant it to be, as the smile slipped from his face and his shoulder slumped.

"I only wanted to talk to you," he mumbled, his words slurring together as he kicked at a rock in the road. His foot missed and the sandal came off, flipping through the air to land in the ditch on the other side of the road. He went to retrieve it, tripping over gravel and nearly falling headfirst in the ditch. He held the sandal loosely by its straps once he'd managed to grab ahold of it, swinging it lightly as he made his way across the street to where she sat.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" she snapped, crossing her arms and tossing her head. "Maybe I don't want to listen." He smelled of ale and sweat—so he had been wrestling after all, or some other sort of physical exertion—and she wrinkled her nose when he crawled unsteadily up the side of the hillock and plopped down beside her, throwing the sandal off to the side.

"B-b-but you're the only one who listens," he protested. He sounded so sad and pitiful that she found herself turning around to catch a glimpse of his face. A part of her considered that he was playing some sort of mean joke on her, but another part speculated that he was the type that got depressed the more he drank. "Eve, aren't we friends?" Now his voice was a grating half-whine. "C'mon, say we're friends," he prompted, putting his hand on her upper thigh. She smacked it away, wondering what he'd do if she called his unthinking gesture harassment.

"We're friends," she finally conceded begrudgingly. "But I'm angry at you," she added quickly, not wanting him to get any bright ideas. "You've been acting so strange lately, and you didn't come and talk to me once all night. You call that friendship?"

"I came to look for you," he pointed out.

"'Tis morning now!" she argued. He took a moment to look at the rising sun.

"Hmm. I suppose." He shrugged. "But—" she cut him off.

"Why didn't you talk to me after I scared away those two brats?" she asked. Usually she didn't dare be so forceful, even in her Court days, but the wine had loosened her tongue sufficiently and she couldn't seem to stop herself. "You brushed me off. I was worried about you!" she growled irritably, punching his arm as hard as she could. He hissed in pain, rubbing it and gracing her with a wounded expression.

"Owww…" he pulled up his jacket sleeve and poked at the skin. "That hurt."

"Good," she retorted sharply. "That's about how I felt earlier today."

"I couldn't talk to you until later. I was—not—" He paused. "I can't think of the word." His face screwed up in effort before he glared at the sun, hands bunching into fists. "But I was just so angry because they dared to threaten my Eve. I wanted to make them pay, and so I didn't talk to anyone."

"Wh—what?!" Never before had she felt so conflicted about another's words. She jumped to her feet, wobbling slightly from the rush of blood to her head as she pointed a finger at him, cheeks burning with indignation. "I am not your Eve! I'm not anyone's Eve!" Half of her was angry beyond belief at being branded as a possession, much less his possession; however her other half felt a rush of exhilaration at how he thought of her as his, even if he never said anything about it when sober.

"You could be my Eve," was the soft rejoinder. "If you wanted to be." He stared up at her, hiccupping quietly and wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Would you want to be?"

"That doesn't matter right now!" Her face heated and she ran a hand through her hair, looking away.

"I think it matters."

"Well… I—I don't care what you think," she sputtered. "Y-you can't just pose a question like that to a woman when you're drunk." He made a soft sound, though whether in protest or compliance she didn't know. "Anyway, back to what you said before… did you mean that you were going to fight me if you spoke to me? That doesn't make any sense, Zacharias."

"Did you know," he said, almost as if he hadn't heard her question at all, "that I really, really like it when you say my name?" He clambered to his knees, kneeling before her reverently. "No one ever says my name. They all call me Sir Barnham, and Rouge calls me Zach or Zacky, and Patty calls me 'child'. Only you ever say Zacharias."

"W-what are you talking about?!" He grinned toothily.

"My name."

"I-I know that!" He leaned forward, hands alighting on her hips and pushing her gently. She tried to steady herself, but her balance was off and she fell backwards. The grass cushioned her fall and she managed to keep her head from hitting the ground, only for it to end up there anyway as he suddenly loomed over her. "What the hell did you do that for!?"

"You looked like you were getting angry, and I didn't want you storming off." He leaned up and rested his weight on one trembling hand, looking down at her. "You…umm…you look really pretty. Has anyone ever told you how pretty you are?" He smiled dazzlingly at her, and she was left trying to figure out if this was a ploy to stop her from getting angrier, or if he was just talking nonsense again.

"No, they haven't," she finally admitted, playing along for lack of a better idea. If she could just get him off of her, she could probably manage to find a way to make him go home. He needed to be sleeping it off at the bakery, not harassing her on a hillside! Who knows what would happen if someone were to wander by and see them both through intoxicated eyes? Why, there'd be a downright scandal, between housewife gossip and heated looks thrown her way from his fan club! Besides, it was more than clear that she wouldn't get any sort of conflict-solving conversation out of him today.

"Well I don't see a reason why. Maybe they were just waiting on me to do it." He laughed, though she couldn't see what was so funny, and then her innards turned to ice as he brushed the hair off her neck, letting it fan out on the grass before running his calloused fingers across her jaw. "You're exceptionally pretty, Eve. I thought that the very first time I laid eyes on you, you know."

"I—I didn't know," she managed to squeak. All her inner fury was gone now, replaced with bafflement and a small spark deep within her that enjoyed the feeling of his warm, roughened hands. She found herself wanting to move and mess up her hair so that he'd have to redo it, and she could feel it again.

"Mhmm," he drawled, his head dipping slightly. "It's sudden, I know, but…um…I'd like to…." he trailed off, eyes half-closing as he leaned down. She realized what he meant to do and put her palm against his forehead, pushing up firmly as she hunched back against the grass.

"Zacharias, no," she said sternly, but her voice still managed to shake. She gulped and licked her lips. "You've clearly drank beyond your measure, and—to be frank, you've got ale-breath and I'd rather not taste it secondhand."

"Oh, but Eve," he sighed, leaning his full weight against her hand until his neck craned back. "Don't you like me?" She was taken aback by the question, but didn't let it deter her.

"Of course I do. We're friends, remember?" He chuckled, shaking his head the best he could with her pushing him away.

"No, I meant do you love me?" he purred in a low voice, and then in the same breath repeated it, singing in an off-key, "Do you love me?" She only stared at him, and he laughed again. "Tis a song. I remember it."

"I—er—" What was she supposed to say? To say no—would that be a lie? She wasn't even sure what mere infatuation felt like, much less full-blown love! But yes didn't seem right either.

"I'll tell you a secret," he said, and now he pushed easily against her hand with his, overpowering her and capturing her fingers in his as he bent his head down until they were almost cheek to cheek. "I love you." His lips brushed her ear and she felt her heart thudding loudly against her ribcage. They stayed like that a long moment while she tried to get her thoughts in order and her body under control; people spoke of butterflies, but it felt more as though horses were stampeding through her stomach.

"Zacharias…" She managed to maneuver them both until he wasn't so close anymore. "You really need to sleep." He nodded. "So do I." She waited patiently for him to move off of her.

"Okay." He promptly collapsed on her, cheek pressed against her chest and arms worming their way around her back and stomach. He sighed contentedly and murmured something under his breath, a happy smile on his face. "Let's take a nap," he declared in a louder tone, tugging her body as close as it could get to his.

"N-no! That's not what I meant!" she shouted, trying to wiggle out of his (surprisingly strong) grasp. All her efforts were in vain and only succeeded in squashing her chest farther into his face—an action he didn't seem to have any problem with. "I meant for you to go home, Zacharias. What if someone comes along the path and sees us sleeping here like this?"

"I don't care," was all the reply she got. She huffed, almost wishing that someone could come along and be her godsend. Of course the path had to be deserted now, and she huffed up at the sky in her exasperation. She meant to pull his head off of her by yanking on his hair, but when her fingers threaded through the strands she found herself pausing. It really was thick, and soft, and she liked the way it slipped around her fingers as she pulled them through.

She found herself petting his head like one might a long-haired cat; the sun warmed the air around her, and having his body pressed up against her wasn't entirely uncomfortable. In fact, it felt pretty damn good, despite everything. The warmth and his even breathing made her feel sleepy, and so she laid her head back and closed her eyes. Maybe when she woke up, she'd find out that this whole crazy event was only a very strange dream.

Thirsty….damn. Barnham opened his eyes, seeing a good deal of black and feeling very warm. His temples ached, his skull pounded, he was thirsting to death, and his body felt about the same way it had when they'd managed to pull him off his horse after that whole humiliating Wild Ride incident. He licked his lips, twisting his shoulders and pressing deeper into whatever he was lying on. The world was spinning… well, no; it was rocking up and down. Wait a minute.

He raised his head, only to have something stop him before he could sit up. There was a sharp tug in his hair and he winced, reaching up to feel not a stick or a barb, but a hand. He looked down as best he could, poking gently at his 'pillow' and finding soft flesh and cloth beneath his curious fingers. T-this is someone? A familiar yellow ribbon danced in and out of sight in his peripherals and he balked at once, his hand jerking back from the black cloth as if scorched. E-Eve! It's Eve—I—I was lying on her—touching her—her br—!

"O-oh no. Oh no, no, no…" He tried to untangle her hand without waking her, his mind fuzzy with lack of sleep and his hangover. What the hell had happened? He didn't—he hadn't done anything, had he?! Had they!?

"Nngh…" Eve opened one eye, looking straight at him as he put her hand gently on the ground and gave it a soft pat. "Well, are you all better now, Zacharias?"

"M-Miss Eve, I, er—" He grimaced; just from her expression, he knew that he must have done something awful. "Please, Miss Eve: if I did anything to frighten or—or offend you, please forgive me. I was goaded into drinking more than I should have and I, um… I apologize." Both eyes opened and she glared at him.

"You called me your Eve, pushed me down, told me you loved me, and then proceeded to use my breasts for a pillow." From her tone, he knew she wasn't lying. Some vague memory of doing what she said came to him and he buried his face in his hands, a hot wave of shame washing over him. Oh, what had he done!? Well, you can kiss any small chance you had with her goodbye now, he thought miserably. 'Tis not as if you would have ever been brave enough to confess your feelings to her before, anyway.

From his dark pit of shame behind his hands, he heard a chuckle that grew into soft, sleepy laughter. He looked up and saw her stretch, back arching as she rolled her shoulders and lifted her arms above her head. He couldn't look away, his mind taking in the sight of her. Even laughing at me, she's still so lovely… He felt a small spark of desire in his gut and finally managed to tear his eyes off of her, gulping.

"You even tried to kiss me," she continued, "but I wouldn't let you while you were in such a state." Something in her tone struck him as odd, as if—as if were he in another state, she'd be open to the idea. But surely that was only a misreading on his part, right?

"I apologize," he repeated, moving to stand and finding his head spinning with dizziness. He sat back down, the world rocking too much for his liking. "I'll be going home now; well, in a moment."

"No." He looked down at her as she grabbed his arm. She pulled him back, curling her upper body around his shoulders and pressing her chin into his hair. "You're still in a bad state; it'd be irresponsible for me to let you walk the streets the way you are now."

"A-as the High Inquisitor?" he asked, confused. Usually she was quick to remind people that she was no longer an Inquisitor in anything but ceremonial title, but here she was, enacting some sort of authority.

"No, fool. As—" Here she paused, and he heard her breath catch for a moment. She's nervous? "As your Eve." While the words were rushed, her hands tightened around him, fingers playing with some hair above his ear. "If you were serious in your offer." D-damn! I can't even remember that offer! He thought a moment, keeping quiet and listening to the sound of a woodpecker in the forest just down the path.

"I'd like that a lot," he answered quietly, feeling a blissful warmth spreading all through him. My Eve… I do like the sound of that.

"I'd like that too."

"O-okay then." She didn't respond, and it took only a few more minutes for her to start snoring softly. He stared at the blue sky, still thirsty but also a little tired.

Maybe he could use a few more hours of sleep.

Author's Note: I wanted this to be angst and kinda sad, but then Barnham had to screw it up and be a funny, affectionate drunk. So blame him.