The fact that she did take his comment for humorous quelled the last attempts at uprising in his brain. It was now officially giving itself over to being drunk. That might have been the reason for him being a bit sloppy with the refill. More than one drop went out and was spilled over Andreas hand. “Whooo... schoorry.” Martin said, now sporting a nice imitation of a southern drawl himself. Then he swung the bottle back and set it on the table quite deliberately. Better be sure and stuff like that.

“But what whom are you mishing?” He then inquired, trying to incline his head to one side. A he, was it not? Which he could she possibly mean? It was not like he knew her social life very well, but if he recalled correctly – and he had troubles with that – she had been a sweet and shy woman. A bit too nosy sometimes. Turns out that he inclined his whole body, trying thinking. And nearly went off the couch. He frantically scrambled to stay up. But no, with a light thud, he was sitting on the ground and looking up at Andrea. “Oopsh.” He remained seated there, making no movement to pick himself up. This was not the way he usually acted. He didn't care. That was good.

Her cup got heavier again, and a goofy, childish grin overtook her lips. This was fun! Not as much fun as running around a crowded bar, singing and clambering on tables had been... but still fun. She didn't feel quite so exposed, with only one pair of eyes on her... or with liquor soaking into her glove. "Oop!" As he deliberately set the bottle down, she deliberately went about sipping at both her cup, and her glove. Though, tho glove didn't taste nearly as good.

The gorgon found herself quite distracted with what a glove felt like on her tongue, until she saw martin flail and topple off the cough. A round of giggles burst from her, and she repositioned herself on the couch so that she was looking down at him, with her knees tucked up into her chest. What had be asked again, before he had spilled off the cough? "...oh, yes... whooo?" Who indeed. What had she been saying? "..I jus miss Saphirus... an everyone at the school too...tha's all. I dint want to leave... but, I had to." Her lips pursed, nose wrinkling like a child who had tasted something she didn't particularly like, and she took a sip from her glass again. A big sip.... and then she blew bubbles into the liquid against her lips.

Martin was sitting below her, looking up like a one man audience. It made her want to do something, like sing... but she couldn't really sing... so maybe dance? or preform a solo puppet show with the sleeves of her sweater! ... somehow, she doubted that would entertain him very much... She blinked at the man, really looking at him for a moment, which probably came off as slightly creepy. Against the various artificial hues of his house that she could see, he was a blob of grey and black that had been smooshed into a human shape. She absently wondered what colors made up a Martin. "...Whut color are your eyes? They look really, really light..." Giggling again, she finished off her drink and leaned out to set her cup down along side the bottle, copying the determinedness that he had used to slap the bottle down.

His couch really was very comfy, probably much more comfy than the floor. She realized that she shouldn't hog it all to herself, not yet, anyway. "..Silly! Here, let me help you upsies!" Bracing herself with both knees on the couch cushion, and one hand planted haphazardly between her legs as if it would hold her up, she extended the other hand down to Martin. Sadly, in her inebriated state things like gravity and common sense had no hold on her. Of course she could help him up one handed! She was Greek, she could do anything! Well... almost anything... She still figured flying was off the list, at least until she spouted feathers, that is.

She sucked at her glove. At her glove. This was enough to make Martin burst out in laughter. He rarely did that. It was an unusual sound in his throat. The way his belly moved now. So. Unusual. Once he had calmed himself down, settled himself really, Martin looked at the hand offered to him as if it was something mildly poisonous. Interesting maybe. But his eyes were too wide for that. And he stared for a bit too long. It was the Alcohol for sure. Only that could do something like this to him. “I'm quite comfortable here.” Which was untrue in a sense. The ground was hard below him. And cold. But it did not matter. And he would surely not make her attempt to pick him up. He had manners after all. Though in present condition the word might have left his lips as 'mannush'. Busying himself he stated. “And they're grey-blue” A pale color to be sure. Almost steel.

But steel could melt too. At her words about missing people from her past, a song appeared in Martins mind. It was a shanty from times before the times. River people really were not much for shanty-singing, those had been sung on the great boats, but well... It came to his mind. A song of loneliness on the sea. And so he sung. A song in German, the harsh vowels and words flowing outwards, melodically, rushing like the sea. A faint memory of a breeze stirred Martins mind. Just from beyond. She didn't need to understand the words. They were slurred anyways. Maybe the music would be enough? And that breeze... it might have come through one of the windows. They did not shut right.

He was comfy on the floor...

She was suddenly very jealous. The couch was comfy too, as she plopped back down, but he seemed very content with the floor. It made her wonder if that spot was special... maybe the carpet was extra fluffy right. exactly. there. She was half tempted to try and push him out of the way, just to see, but was far to lazy.

So she sat, and echoed him. "Grey blue..." Saph's were... blue. Like the sea, and just as deep. Maybe if she had looked deeply enough into them when she had had the chance, she would have spotted dolphins and turtles swimming about. She laughed, and flopped over onto her side, repeating martin's eye color away. Trying to match it to something in her head. She matched them awkwardly to the color of a dove she had once seen, not a real one. A little painted dove in a ceramic shop. Or maybe they were a Grey blue like granite, or marble. She wiggled about more until she was bent at an impossible angle, with her feet kicking slightly in the air above her head, while she poked at the carpet.

It didn't feel very comfy...

And then Martin started singing. She didn't understand at first, because she didn't know what he was singing. The words weren't English, and she was far too gone to attempt to figure out which language it was. She only knew two anyway... Instead, she let herself melt into the couch, chin digging into the cushion as she listened and played with the floor. Her eyes slipped closed, but her eyebrows worked to show that she was still thinking, and had not merely fallen asleep. His singing was unlike a lot of things, but still similar in a way. She thought back to the various singers she loved from Greece. She wanted to dance again, and sloppily clambered off of the couch, taking a cushion with her in her efforts. She made it as far as the table, before she spied her glass and decided to empty it again.. just to see if it would magically refill, then hopped onto wobbly feet and took a pose that she had seen her mother strike a few times. A few rusty steps later, she found that wearing baggy pants made it rather hard to move in the proper ways, and paused in her shuffling to try and adjust them.

A few aggravating minutes later, she came to the conclusion that no pants at all was better when it came to dancing, and sat again, wiggling her way drunkenly back out of them. They clung to one foot, so she was forced to kick them away, before scrambling to her feet again.With her legs free, she could move her feet the way they were supposed to... even if it was a little hard to match her dancing up to Martin's song....especially while wobbly.

Andrea removed herself from the couch. Martin noted this with a form of curious interest, especially taking into consideration the fact that she was swaying. Not the kind of hip-swaying some woman use to get a guys attention (Or more than attention) but the kind that said in a quite sombre voice 'I'm very drunk, why thank you I feel fine'. She somehow did not look fine to Martin. Especially considering the fact that she had knocked a cushion off the sofa.

He took it though and positioned himself on it like a more-than-slightly drunk Fakir, still rolling through the words of a song that he knew and Andy did not. It was better now though. His backside was not cold any more (it had been before, thank you carpet). Much better singing this way. His voice sounded much more content, too. But this could have been an illusion created by the song. He had now come to the part where both people in question were actually dead, so it did not really matter much any more. He did not refill her glass, there was only a handful of Alcohol left and that was hisss. He might be a gentleman sometimes. But he was also drunk. So that rest went into him. It was appropriated by his by his stomach soon. He would need it.

Andrea took off her pants to dance. Martin turned scarlet, planting his eyes firmly on the ground. Visibly bordeaux. The singing stopped. Abruptly. So far so normal. What was slightly unusual was that at the same time a third thing happened. The door shook with three resounding booms and even worse: Before anyone could do anything (do not even think about retrieving your clothes), the door sprang open to reveal a dark pair of eyes. Martin was on his feet immediately, still scarlet in his face. A few swaying steps later, he was at the door, facing the neighbor to the left, or maybe up, or whatever, it wasn't really important, was it? The neighbors eyes had turned wide at seeing Andy. It is not every day that you see a Gorgon dancing with almost only her panties on. He was positively oozing. And I mean that literally. Spittle was dropping to the floor of the hallway. Martin, just slightly inebriated, slammed the door in his face. This also, is to be taken literally. There was a crunch. And then cursing. But at least there was no more banging on the door. Thank all the gods for that. Martin was standing at the door now, swaying slightly.

The singing stopped. She spared a glance over at martin. Why was he all red in the face like that? Had he eaten a particularly hot pepper? Where would he have even gotten a pepper, he was nowhere near the fridge... She puzzled over that question for a moment, her head tilted a little to the side. Maybe he had a secret stash under the couch! The urge to scramble over and check was great, but she reminded herself that she was trying to dance, and dancing was far more important than mystery peppers. She needed to remember the steps, but everything was getting fuzzy, and the room was tilting just a little too much. It was getting hard to stand still, let alone preform the correct leg kicks and such! Furrowing her eyebrows, she dropped her hands to her hips like she had seen her mother do, and attempted to do the little swaying kick dance that was stuck in her mind. She was so much involved in it, that she didn't really bother to pay attention to Martin getting up to answer the door. Or, at least she didn't until it slapped suddenly and made her jump. Andrea turned and blinked at the man, who was wobbling about over by the door. She connected the loud knocking with the slamming very, very slowly and then grinned. "Who was that? " Friendly neighbor? Girl scout? Ooh, that meant cookies! Er... well, only if he had gotten some. From the lack of boxes in his arms, she assumed it hadn't been cookie girl. Which left neighbor, or something else. She decided not to pry, and resumed wobbling about on legs that shouldn't have rightly been able to hold her up.

She could remember some of the words to the song that went with the dance, but not everything. So, turning away from the door and the man standing by it, she wobbles about and hummed the tune to the sing suddenly stuck in her head. She could remember being little and watching her mother try to get her father interested in the music and the festivities... he always had a problem with loosening his tie, even for a little while. "... Do you dance Martin?" She swiveled on her toes, stumbling a little, and grinned at him- all teeth. "...My mother tried to teach my father how to dance... Kýrie, í̱tan óti pánta énas pónos..." Slipping into her native language without realizing, she muttered of a little more about how much of a pain it had been on her mother, trying to curb her dad's wall flower nature. "thée mou.... I remember her getting so very frustrated, because he would not put effort into it!" The Greek put her hands on her hips and turned to an invisible husband, wrinkling her nose in fake disdain. "She would say, χαριτωμένος! You aren't putting any life into it! Look, your arms are so floppy, and your legs are too ridged! I remember trying to move my papa's legs for him..." With a giggle, she moved back to dancing, more of a little skippy hop than a dance, really, but she didn't currently care. Her stomach felt oddly slushy, and she was pleasantly lightheaded... and a song she hadn't heard for months popped to mind.

She could hear the guitar in her head, loud enough that it could have spilled from her ears and filled the whole room with music. What's more, it matched the little steps she was doing nearly perfectly. She felt a goofy grin climb onto her lips and started singing along to the song flowing through her head. The words came out greek, just the way they were recited in her head. It was a sad song, most definitely, and somewhere deep inside she knew that. The part of her that was torn up about leaving the person she loved behind was singing the loudest, while the happily drunk outside of her was making a fool of herself. Paying no mind to her surroundings, she attempted dramatic hop up onto the coffee table, but only managed to catch her toes on the edge and ended up toppling over like a cut tree to the floor. "....Ow..." The fall jolted her partially back into reality, as well as her stomach, which gurgled violently. She felt kind of sad.... and sick all of the sudden. And a little angry at the coffee table for not catching all of her. Only one foot was balanced on it, one green foot with wiggling toes. "... They didn't ever really dance after... after I changed..." The floor started to waiver and ripple, like it was made of water. She blinked, realizing that her eyes were wet, and sniffled angrily. The music was gone. As was the beautiful guitar that she would never really be able to play, and she was left in a mostly silent, cold, apartment. Turning her head, she peeked under the couch next to her. ".... you... have dust balls the size of rodents..."

Martin did not hear Andrea's last comments. He was finished. For this night he was. He wobbled over to the couch, uncaring that Andrea was presently experiencing some minor forms of distress. He was finished. And wrapped himself inside a blanket. Nicely. In the corner of the room that was farthest from the couch. Martin was drunk. But sometimes indeed he was a gentleman.

Next Morning – The thing after:

Well there were better things than waking up with a heavy head facing the brightness coming in through your windows (which you did not fully close last night). Especially if it felt like vicious dwarfs were heading on a drilling operation down your cranium. There were other things that also were slightly bothersome. He had been sleeping on the floor. His head... thinking was a bit difficult right now. A bit too bothersome, too. Only two things were on his mind right now. Out of the light. And ibuprofen. Out of the light. That one first. Looking into the well-risen sun made the dwarfs get out the tunneling machines and dynamite. Not good. So he rolled himself into a shadowy corner where he nursed his churning head and stomach for a couple of silent minutes before slowly scrambling for the bathroom to pick up the much-desired medicines. He just hoped his stomach would be able to keep them.

The cool and slightly damp air of the bathroom settled around him even as he closed the stained door behind him. Stained. What had happened last night again?