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Most of the ship had gone to sleep by now, but Zolf was content to be the last one down. He perched on the little step up from the deck to the bow and leaned back against the railing, breathing in the coolness of the night, feeling the wind. It was nice, he thought. Even if it was just a distraction, they had all needed it. They deserved a fun night.
Over by the bar, Hamid and Azu were saying goodnight to Kiko, Azu’s new kobold body wrapped around her usual one like an oddly spiky scarf. Wilde, Cel, Barnes, and Carter were having some conversation about alchemy and bartending, which mostly involved Barnes and Wilde listening and Carter being in a headlock, reaching around to try and mess with his tail. Wilde laughed at something Zolf couldn’t hear and leaned over the bar to grab his half-finished glass of gin. He took a sip, stretched, and started making his way over to Zolf.
At some point he had shed the costume and his coat to dance with Cel, who when not a penguin was the only one to match his height who wasn’t in a different body, and now he was shivering slightly in the cold wind. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and Zolf could see one of his bracers slipping down from his shoulder under his vest. It was the most un-self-consciously rumpled he had ever seen the man. And he was grinning, too, that newly lopsided grin Zolf had become accustomed to, and he seemed to have forgotten it wasn’t the bright salesman smile he’d had when they’d first met. Somehow the effect was starting to be the same; meaning, of course, that it kind of made Zolf want to punch him. But it was oddly charming too.
Wilde came over and sat down heavily next to him, tilting over a bit and almost colliding with Zolf’s knee. He looked incredibly pleased with himself, and Zolf couldn’t blame him; the night had gone off without a hitch. “Good evening First Mate Smith,” he said with playful seriousness, emphasizing the capital letters in the way he knew got on Zolf’s nerves. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“I’m alright, thanks Wilde.” Zolf took in the unfocused grin, the flushed cheeks. “What about you, you need anything?” Wilde raised the gin in his hand and toasted him with a wink. “I was thinking more like, er. Some water, maybe?”
“Planning to drown me in a bucket after all, then, Zolf?” Wilde smirked and finished his drink. “Shame,” he cast his eyes dramatically to the heavens and clasped the empty glass to his heart, “and we were getting on so well too.”
“You’re drunk,” said Zolf, almost impressed. “Like, proper drunk.”
Wilde honest-to-god giggled. “We can all allow ourselves a little indulgence every now and then,” he said, and shone the full beam of that wry, merry grin right in Zolf’s face.
“Didn’t expect you to indulge this much,” said Zolf.
“I didn’t really want to indulge too much while Earhart was still about,” said Wilde. “I’m not one to tempt fate. It felt a bit like rubbing it in her face, if I’m honest, but once she went down I figured the danger was past.”
“That’s... that’s good, Wilde,” said Zolf, struck by the casual awareness. “Er...” he reached over and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Nice- yeah. Nice job, I guess, ‘n all that.”
“Thank you Zolf,” Wilde beamed. “You know what? I’m glad you enjoyed it. Good to see you unwind. You’re so tense all the time, Zolf, all the time.”
“Look who’s talkin’!”
“Oh, me,” Wilde said airily, tapping out a tune on the empty glass with his nails. “I’m never tense, darling. Doesn’t do to be tense. You’re tense, I’m just focused.”
“Is that what they’re callin’ it nowadays.”
Wilde waggled his eyebrows. “Always happy to help you loosen up a bit, Mr. Smith.”
“You’re bloody awful.”
“But I do it so well darling, it’d be a shame to keep those natural talents all locked up! Share your gifts with the world, that’s what I say.” Zolf smiled despite himself; Wilde’s casual giddiness was contagious. It was good to see him like this, a small, precious reminder of a more carefree time. Wilde may have managed to keep his original body, but Zolf knew he had needed tonight as much as any of them.
Kiko had taken the helm for the night, and Cel, Barnes, and Carter had finally followed the rest back down to the sleeping quarters, leaving Zolf and Wilde alone on the bow. It was strewn with the light detritus of a party well-executed; a couple empty glasses here, a discarded jacket there. At some point in their makeshift game of bowling, Azu’s added spikes had started to loosen, so there were a couple of those too. They’d have to watch their step in the morning.
Zolf looked up to the dark sky above them. “It’s late,” he said. Wilde put the glass down and ran his hands through his hair, fluffing it gently.
“Hm. I should probably get to cleaning up, shouldn’t I?”
“I mean, if you want.”
Wilde went to stand, but only got about halfway up before staggering and apparently reconsidering. He fell back down more than sat, listing gently to the side. “Lightweight,” Zolf grunted fondly. “How long’s it been since you’ve got properly drunk?”
“I have no idea,” said Wilde happily. “Quite a while. Not sure I know my limits anymore.”
“Well, y’should after tonight.”
Wilde leaned in, drunkenly conspiratorial. “Back when I was working for the... the dragons, right, you remember? I could drink anyone under the table.”
Zolf snorted. “Could you now.”
“You know, after a certain amount of fancy parties with fancy alcohols you do start to build up a tolerance.” Wilde poked him in the cheek, though it was entirely possible he had been aiming for Zolf’s nose. “Guess the end of the world is good for something after all. Whole plethora of reasons for me to stop hitting the bottle, now I don’t have to sit there and burn money trying to get drunk just to avoid keeling over while listening to Sir Whatsisface tell me all about the dreadfully exciting gossip he had on Lady Whosername.”
“I noticed y’never popped into any of Carter’s hideyholes, back in Japan,” Zolf said.
He grinned. “Tell you a secret Zolf, the reason I never partook of Carter’s little stash was that I was a bit worried that if I started getting wasted every night I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
...Okay. Zolf filed that under ‘concerning’ for now. “You should get some sleep,” he said. “I can’t Cure Poison on you, remember.”
Wilde grimaced and waved the reminder away with an airy, unsteady hand. “Oh, let’s forget about that. ‘M just enjoying the novelty.”
Zolf stood up and offered his hand. “Hello, beep beep, it’s the designated driver. Time for bed, Wilde, you’re gonna freeze out here.”
Wilde reached out to take Zolf’s hand. He missed. Zolf rolled his eyes and took the man by the forearms, gently guiding him upright. Wilde swayed cheerfully, humming contentedly to himself.
“If you feel like you’re gonna be sick, do me a favour and let me know first.” Wilde gave him a clumsy, one handed salute and focused on not tripping over his own feet.
“Yessir, first mate Mr. Smith sir.” His face fell. “I should clean up.”
“Leave it to the mornin’,” said Zolf, “and I’ll help you.”
Wilde sounded genuinely touched. “Thank you, Zolf.”
They made their stumbling way across the bridge, and down to Wilde’s little office-bedroom-cloister thing. The stairs gave them a bit of trouble; Wilde, apparently reveling in the way the world was spinning, was no help at all. “Gonna be real embarrassing for you if you die from falling down a flight of stairs,” Zolf groaned. “‘Ere, hold on.”
He propped Wilde up haphazardly on his shoulders, where he clung like a limpet. “It’s not my fault, Zolf. Shouldn’t have stairs on a boat.”
“‘S a ship, not a boat. Oi, be careful-“
“Sorry, sorry!” Wilde swayed and tipped dangerously, but managed to grab a handful of Zolf’s collar to stop himself from tumbling down the last few steps. “Gods, everything’s spinning...”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Come on,” Zolf eased him down the last few steps- Wilde immediately latched back onto his shoulders and began humming merrily to himself again- and started steering them down towards Wilde’s cabin.
When they were just outside, Zolf detached Wilde and just kind of leaned him against the wall so he could open the door. As he did so, Wilde’s humming became full-on singing, which was... a surprise. Wilde didn’t often sing out loud, especially not recently, especially not like this- bright, uncautious. There weren’t really words; it was a lot of ‘la la la’s and the like.
With the anti-magic cuffs and no solution in sight, Wilde had gotten in the habit of quietly leaving the room when others started making music. Zolf had a sudden feeling he had been allowed into something oddly private.
“You are going to wake the whole blessed Northern Wastes,” Zolf grumbled, and hoped that Wilde was too drunk to notice the note of affection that had somehow wormed its way in (he was). Wilde swept a hand out dramatically.
“Dance with me Zolf,” he said blissfully, and continued singing. Zolf leaned against the doorframe and watched, bemused, as Wilde mimed a clumsy waltz with no one.
“You are gonna have one hell of a hangover.”
“One two three, one two three,” Wilde made a grab for Zolf’s hand, but Zolf easily evaded him. He staggered against the other wall of the corridor and made a face. “Oh c’mon, Zolf, ’s no fun to dance by yourself.” He winked at Zolf; it looked like it took a lot of concentration.
Zolf sighed, walked around behind him, and pushed him gently into the room. “Go to sleep, Wilde, bloody hell. You are plastered.”
“Y’know I’ve never understood the etymology of that,” said Wilde, letting himself be manhandled over to the hammock. There was a faint musical lilt in his cadence that Zolf had never heard before, just a hint of an Irish accent. Wilde had told him once that he’d trained himself out of it long ago in order to blend in better with London’s upper crust, something about the Meritocrats recruiting him right out of uni. Apparently it hadn’t completely left him. “Were people who plastered things, like, were they famously low-tolerance for alcohol, or, what? Quite the mystery,” he said to no one in particular. He blinked at the hammock, apparently unsure how he had gotten there. Then he turned to Zolf. “I think... I might be going to be sick?”
“G- great,” said Zolf helplessly.
“You said t’ tell you.”
“Er... thanks.”
Wilde thought for a moment, then apparently came to a decision and turned to the hammock. He began the slow, ungainly process of clambering in. “I should... prrrrobably get. Sleep.”
“Yes, good job, Wilde.”
“Thank you,” Wilde said, sounding very pleased with himself, and managed to rock himself face-first into the hammock. He carefully wriggled himself onto his side and grinned proudly at Zolf, who gave him an exasperated thumbs up.
“You are a disaster, you know that right?”
“Mm.” Wilde closed his eyes and hummed happily to himself. The melody was getting a bit muddled at this point. Zolf leaned over and blew out the safety lantern.
“Thanks, Zolf,” came Wilde’s sleepy voice from out of the darkness.
“It’s nothin’. I’m the first mate, gotta look after my crew.”
“You’re a good first mate, Zolf,” Wilde yawned. “‘N a good person . ‘S so... y’know, it is quite hard, to find somebody who’s... good, like you. You’re... you’re, you’re good people, that’s what you say, right?”
“ Goodnight , Wilde.”
Zolf had darkvision; he could see Wilde’s soft, genuine smile. “Y’know, I don’t think I could do this without you.”
“...Me neither, Wilde,” said Zolf, and found as he said if that he really, really meant it.