Tali winced at the sound of an empty bottle hitting the floor of the Normandy’s lounge. Now, to anyone else, the sound of glass hitting metal wouldn’t have necessarily been cringe worthy, but after twelve rounds of Turian brandy, things tended to get…intense for the drinker.
“Shhh, you little bosh’tet!” Tali hissed in the direction of the bottle, holding a finger up to her mask. The young Quarian’s day had already been rough enough and she didn’t need any of the bottle’s shit. It was a good thing Garrus was near by, just in case the bottles tried to pull anything.
When the bottle stopped rattling Tali made a move for a new, full bottle, primed for drinking with an “emergency induction port” already in it. Reaching out a three fingered and, Tali starched towards the other end of the bar and began to lean in her seat. When her finger finally wrapped around the bottle, Tali’s body was at full extension and she lost her alcohol hindered balance, causing her to fall onto the floor. At least she managed to keep her drink from spilling.
“Bosh’tet artificial gravity…why are you such a bosh’tet?” Tali complained as she attempted to move into a upright sitting position with little avail. As she rocked herself back and forth, Tali looked a bit like a turtle that had been flipped on its back. After about a minute of struggling she finally gave up and laid still flat on her back.
Why does everything have to happen to me? Tali thought, recollecting on the events of the day. First she was accused of treason,then she found her father dead, she would have been exiled if it weren’t for Shepard, and now she was under attack by gravity.
A warm feeling began to well up in Tali’s belly at the thought of Shepard sticking up for her. How she could ever repay the Commander for that kindness was beyond Tali. Even joining her suit with Shepard seemed sufficient enough. At least Kasumi was kind enough to let Tali have the Lounge to herself while she thought things over…and drink her brains out, but Tali would have managed that on her own without the bar.
Perhaps she’d be able to think of something when she was sober, but that was a problem for a later time. For now, she had another ten rounds to go though before she figured she’d start to feel better. Minimum.
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