"Can you still drink?" Alka looked at Balazs. Balazs's cheeks were flushed, and he reeked of alcohol, his eyes half-open.
"My friend, don't underestimate me. I grew up with alcohol... so this little bit is nothing to me."
Listening to him, his words already slurring, it was clear he wasn't as capable as he claimed. It seems the alcohol he grew up on wasn't very strong, Alka thought.
"Alright, then. One more glass," Alka said with a sigh, clinking his glass against Balazs's. After all, Balazs wasn't in a good mood, and alcohol was the simplest way to vent. At least he wasn't making a drunken scene; that was good, wasn't it? As long as he didn't make a drunken scene, getting drunk was fine.
"AH~ REFRESHING!" Balazs exclaimed, setting his glass on the table and leaning heavily against the nearby wall.
"I've had some terrible luck this time. It's all those damn traitors' fault."
