crestas:

He was drunk.

Totally, completely, three sheets to the wind, head over arse, sloshed, foxed and drunk.

What a coot.

“Looks like we’re going to have a visitor,” I muttered flatly, though when I looked down at the place where MJ had just moments ago been quietly sitting, there was only an empty seat.

Well, where the buggering hell had he gone?

“You scared away my mate,” I told James with a quick glare when he finally managed to stumble on over towards the girls’ staircase. He was leaning lazily against the frame of the stairwell, his hazel eyes rather blurry, his grin more stupid than his usual idiocracy, looking positively high. This, you see, is what becomes of those who drink. I rolled my eyes and threw him a pointed look. “I see you had a bit of a tumble,” I muttered dryly, motioning towards the broken table, which of course no one had bothered to right. James simply grinned.

“I lost,” he told me.

“I can see that,” I said.

“I wasn’ losing ‘fore, y’know,” he stuttered, giving a little bit of a pathetic laugh, which naturally caused me to laugh because of the whole patheticness of it all and everything. “Nope,” he went on with a giant sigh, his unsteady hand coming up to his head to rustle his hair slowly. “Wasn’ losing ‘fore. Was winning, y’know. Then…humph…dunno…s’ppse…”

It was really quite priceless.

I really did adore a drunken James.