Okay, so, maybe he had a few too many drinks. And maybe he overestimated his tolerance juuust a tiny bit. But who can blame him? Whatever the Fire Nation has been putting in their bubbly green cocktails makes them go down like fruit juice!

Case in point, in about twenty minutes and three glasses, he goes from lucid and only being annoying within normal bounds to a rambling, over-energetic wreck that can cry or start laughing about nothing at the drop of a hat.

“… and that’s- y’know, she’s-- she, she, she’s like, ‘well your lack of vulnerability and maturity is really putting a strain on things’, and it’s sprung on me right as I’m--“

He interrupts himself with a hiccup then downing yet another glass. It really does go down smooth. Then he attempts to pick up exactly where he left off.

“As I was saying before I was oh-so rudely interrupted by my own biological function--“ He hiccups again. A little louder this time. A little more wet this time.

Oh, no.