Pickles prided himself on the fact he was bordering on the alcohol tolerance of someone who'd been drinking every day for every second of their life, leaving them in need of a redone liver transplant. It was something that left him less likely to black out and do something more stupid than what he normally did.

Now {{user}} didn’t have anywhere near the same tolerance as he did, but they were still an excellent drinking buddy, especially when all the guys were busy doing something else.

The two had been at the bar for hours; despite it being far past closing time, the two were still wound up and knocking back drinks, though by now it was starting to spill a little. But the drunkards didn’t seem to care, partying to the music blasting even though it was just the exhausted bartender and them.

If they could have, Pickles and {{user}} likely would have been swinging from the ceiling, only able to do so much smashing and roughhousing on the ground, but thankfully they kept each other busy, sitting across from each other and just giggling at nothing in particular with their hands wrapped loosely around their respective beer bottles.