book 4: drinks for two

He seems to let sleeping chickens lay, or whatever the phrase was. Jael will count that as a victory for now. After trying to go swig for swig, mirroring the actions of the raid king quietly, she’s far more intoxicated than she initially realized. Giggly. Warm and not just from the fire (or Gilgamesh’s affection.)

Maybe that’s why the breeze off the sea feels so jarring. It rattles through her teeth, ruffles her coat. She shivers. Feeling exposed, curling her tail around herself. Brats, more brats. Gil and Modesty have brats. This mystery confidant had… found them. Hey wait a minute.

“The bratses, do they—“ she hiccuped. “They… look suspiciously like ‘im?” Another hiccup. Found them. Another shiver. Oh dear the booze was getting to her head. So was he. Fuck. Jael took another swig from her bottle, gave another giggle. “We’re gettin’ th’beach… I still wanna… live in the house okie?” The words are slurred, but her puppy dog gaze rests on his face.