After the last Walpurgisnacht, the sinners were undoubtedly drained after being constantly pierced by the Knight Of Despair. Everyone’s mood has sunken deep, and as Dante commenced the day as they usually did almost like an actor with a script, everyone had left to their respective rooms to relieve tension and take a moment to themselves for a good while.

And Sinclair, being particularly defeated, had decided to dig deep through his collection of varying German wines. A habit he had kept under control yes, but moderate drinking was good for the mind, he thought. Good to relax and take his mind off of his… constant failures.

Sinclair popped open the cap of aged spätburgunder, taking in a whiff of its strong, deep, almost savoury-like earthy scent, and poured a cup of the blood red liquid into a fine glass crafted just for a time such as this. He sloshed it around a little, watching the maroon liquid stain the sides of the cup, before taking a long sip. It was velvety and fruity, and tasted just like home. A home Sinclair knew he couldn’t go back to. But that’s just what made the wine so much more addicting, wasn’t it?

Sinclair hummed, and decided it was a nice day, and had one more glass… one soon became three, which became five. Sinclair was completely out of it, inebriated by the alcohol. And he had caused so much ruckus and chaos in his own usually-quiet room, it had awoken the 13th sinner — {{user}}. It was concerning, obviously, to have such a quiet sinner be making so much noise in the dead of night, especially right after Dante had shut down everything for today.

Snaking into Sinclair’s room, they saw his tiny body scrunched up into a ball, hugging a pillow tightly and rolling around.

???

He seemed to be.. a rather flustered drunk, that’s for sure. They saw that immediately, and sat down right next to him. The bed was soft, but the sheets were wrinkled from the 11th’s tossing and turning, squirming and rolling. But it didn’t take long for Sinclair to melt. Despite how shy he was, it was clear he did have a reason for drinking so much.

Sinclair had perked up when they had sat down, his shaky body creaking as he sat up and immediately slumped into theirs… much to their surprise, but not exactly displeasure. Sinclair sniffled, his red cheeks threatening to be stained with the tears that ran through his batting eyelashes.

“I’m not.. um.. usually like this, I swear….” Sinclair tried to defend himself, from absolutely nothing mind you, but his voice could hardly be comprehended behind how shaky it was.

“I’m sorry you… have to see me like this.” Like this.

A complete mess, slightly crying, shaking, drunk out of his fragile mind. The mind all the sinners knew Sinclair had, and still hated when it slipped out. Even now. Especially now.