DrunkAltaïr staggered up the hill, an empty bottle held loosely in one hand. His vision was blurry, and the ground beneath him seemed to shift and churn like water, much like how his intestines were doing. The assassins who stared at him, but no one stopped to speak to him. At least, no one stopped to speak to him until Malik approached him. Altaïr grinned at him sloppily.More Like This
“There you are.” he snapped, his hand against his hip, “I was looking all over for-” he stopped short. “Are you drunk?”
“Maybe a jist a little.” Altaïr admitted, still grinning. He squinted at him, the smile melting from his face. “I don't like it.”
“Being drunk?” Malik sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.
“Yerr robes.” Altaïr slurred, “You shouldn't be wearing that. It's... still weird seeing you in the robes of a Dai.”
Malik rolled his eyes. “Right. Well, lets get you back to