i don't wanna go to school [ o, drunk ] i just wanna break the rules

Usually you'd expect someone like Jersey to get wasted in the middle of the night, but that wasn't the case now.

It all started with Jersey, however. Though now that Pad reflected on that, it all started when he showed up at the border. Pad was never exactly sane, and isolation had worn down on his mind. Although being around people should be helping, his mentality was slipping. Not noticeably, he was smarter than to wear his dead heart on his sleeves. He had crafted a mask, and despite everyone hating said mask, it protected them from all the sadness and anger and confusion swirling around and clashing in his gut.

But that still didn't explain why the ghost did this to himself. Instead, he had been moping around, trying to fix the wound that Jersey's words reopened. The boy had dumped all of his feelings at the Italian's feet, and now he didn't want to feel anymore. He wanted death again. Not this hellish limbo he had been trapped in for centuries, he wanted the darkness, the numbness, the calmness.

So, he turned the unhealthy solution to what he knew others turned too. If you can't beat them, might as well join them. While Jersey slept, Pad raided his stash of alchohol, escaping with a frosted bottle in his teeth. It was awfully heavy for a clear liquid, and it took some attempts to open it, but the ghost managed, unfortunately. The vodka burned his throat after the first sip, causing him to gag. Almost immediately, he felt nauseous. How did people enjoy this? He pressed on- the bitter taste served him right, didn't it?

Pad was oblivious to the nature of ghosts. Anything they consumed, they essentially absorbed into their perpetual energy, no matter how little it be. And when it came to alcohol, the effects were going to show twice as quickly. The feline didn't even down half the bottle when he toppled over, mind finally falling into the grasp of intoxication. Everything was dulled from then on, but he could vaguely sense himself wobbling and tottering on his feet. Blindly stumbling around seemed to take him right to the place he avoided the most, the epicenter of camp. It was then his drunken legs gave out on him, and he fell to the ground with little more than an 'oof'. His own clumsiness gained a giggle out of him, and before long, Pad was laughing at anything that could be seen. Tears started to stream down his cheeks as he snickered and wheezed, splayed out in camp central. Fortunately, he didn't attract a large crowd just yet, everyone should of been asleep. Unless his hysterical and intoxicated laughter interrupted their beauty sleep.

Ha, he ended up giggling hard enough to split his sides down the metaphorical seams. His brain forced him to stop, leaving him panting and chuckling with a dopey smile holding his maw open. For a hopeful moment, he could see clearly again. Terribly disoriented, he attempted to rub his tears away from his eyes, tiny frame still trembling with his erratic breathing. He had forgetten why he started laughing in the first place. The feline lay there for a few nonexistant heartbeats, staring off at nothing.

It wasn't until a brief word was mumbled that he jerked, glancing around spastically before his muddled eyes locked on JW. "Well, hey there, pardner." Pad slurred, head tilted to the side as if his neck couldn't support it. He felt another giggle begin, and he quickly bit down on his lip to hold himself together. It took a moment for him to refocus his optics on the hound again, and even then he slowly processed what was being said to him. "Hah, I've never been, uh, never been... better!" Clearly struggling to formulate sentences, it was impressive that such a lightweight like him could even register his surroundings properly. "Whaddya doin', this town ain't big enough. For the both of us... who are ya again?" The ghost rambled aimlessly, tripping over his own hindered speech. Oh Devil, he sounded like a babbling idiot. And he was incapable of doing anything about it. Pad allowed his bobbed tail to wag lightly, and even that simple movement seemed lopsided and slowed. He slouched forward, eyes straining upwards to keep JW in his vision, but he couldn't hold himself upright any longer without a little break.

Somewhere in the back of his sluggish mind, red flags went off at the arrival of the Italian. He had stolen the vodka from Jerseyboy, yet even in his drunken state, he wasn't going to let Jersey find that out easily. "Vo...vodka? The fuck is that?" he rumbled, the foreign word harsh on his slurring tongue. That sounded familiar to his dusty memory, but then it wasn't. He slumped, paws pressed his temples in a pointless attempt to ward off the increasing nausea. Even with his pounding migraine growing, Pad was shockingly sated with Jerseyboy present, especially after their last encounter.

He peered back up at Julian and Jersey, amber eyes glazed over and unfocused. "Is vodka a person?" Should he know this vodka? "Are they here?" He glanced around as if expecting the mystery spectator to appear out of the blue. It didn't help that his vision had always been blurred, and with a pout, he pulled himself into a crooked sitting position as he looked for someone who didn't exist.