[This isn't rock bottom. Rock bottom is pushing away every one of your friends and living in some crummy, roach infested hotel with moldy sheets for weeks and never showering, shaving, changing clothes and just drinking. Constantly. Crawling across the floor to a bottle hit out of your hands, just for the last few drops.

Here, he would probably never hit rock bottom... but this was as low as he'd ever hit before. And some part of him, the logical, genius part of his brain that was way too fast for his own, drunken good was starting to nag at him again. To get him to stop and think. To look at the last handful of hours and realize just how bad this situation was. How bad it could have been.

Unfortunately, that part of him was just a niggling itch and nothing more. He was still too drunk, too distracted by the ache behind his eyes and the nausea his body was stubbornly keeping at bay. Endless years of practice, physical resistance to hangovers that would have landed the rest of the world in a hospital. He's invented through them, gone to school, passed exams, given lectures, weapon presentations. Right here and right now, this conversation?

Yeah. He could do this.]

I go somewhere? [He squints, refusing to wince at the sound of his own voice, even if he is lowering the volume a bit after those first words.] Maui. Maui, right? Some... tropical place. God I need a vacation, just. Beaches, bikinis, winding roads'n sports cars.

[He's feeling behind him and- ah. Flask. Flask with just a slight swishing of liquid inside it. God this flask is his best friend right now.

If only he can remember how to get the freaking cap off.]