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No one understands the thirst for vengeance so much as Gavin. It was not enough to kill your enemies — far better to destroy them.

Ice has long since melted from his glass, and Gavin considers the question as he retrieves more cubes.

"Silph. Both of them." Two ice cubes clink against glass. "My father." Three. A pause, then, "Calem. Theo." Clink, clink. Amber liquid swirls in his glass. "Walsh."

Talk of treason comes easier to a liquor-loosened tongue.

He drinks, deep.

"I wouldn't, of course. Kill Walsh. Not unless I had a reason. Nor the other two." He feels it's obvious which two, but specifies, "Calem's an asset under my control and Theo is..." His gaze is distant. "I tried to kill him, once, y'know?" He should stop talking. He slams the glass down too hard, coordination shot. "Maybe I should've. Would've saved me a lot of grief."

He twists his wedding ring around his finger as he talks, clearly agitated by the subject. It was a funny thing, to have loved someone as much as you'd hated them. Now there is only a yawning void of absence.

"You're like a brother to me, you know." He gestures with his glass, sloshing its contents. "Did I already ask you a question? Fuck."

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Gavin meets the matching amber gaze of his friend with gravity in spite of the alcohol that makes the room shift around them.

"I know."

Though he prays such a judgement day will never come, he's glad to know that his fellow underboss will stand shoulder to shoulder with him if they must put someone in the ground.

Mars moves slow enough that even the intoxicated Gavin has plenty of time to see and react to the arm before it drapes around his back, but his only movement is the shake of his shoulders as he laughs. He leans his head against the now-sleeping Sylveon, marveling at the soft texture of its fur even as the fey creature grumbles and stirs.

"I haven't drank this much in years."

He won't let his guard down around most others.

"Mm... what's something on your bucket list?"

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"Eyy, frat bro." Gavin, too had, been part of a fraternity at Hammerlocke University. It had been expected of him. His father and grandfather had been, and so dutifully had he followed in their footsteps despite no interest in the life. The parties had been pretty fun, though. He'd learned a lot about himself in those days. "Bet I could still kick ass at beer pong."

He does laugh.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm not laughing at you I promise." He's grinning, eyes sparkling. "Just that's the kind of shit I'd love to do. Hell, maybe we should. World's ending and all."

That topic could be considered terrifying and morose, but Gavin's both too drunk and too much in denial of his potential fate to dwell on the horrors. He'd done his panicking in the beginning. Walsh didn't seem worried, the League seemed like that at least had some kind of plan, so maybe they knew something he didn't. He wishes they'd share.

"I've always wanted to go to one of those fuckin'... murder mystery things. Y'know where someone is the killer and you've gotta sus it out? That shit sounds fun." Of course, Gavin enjoys anything that utilizes his mind. "Oh! Or make one of those Galarian fossil abominations but like, proper. There's no way those things are real."

He'd tried, but as yet attempts have been unsuccessful.

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Raucous laughter goes unchecked as alcohol's effects compound. Gavin's cheeks are flushed and eyes bright. He's leaning his weight into the kitchen island, cheek pressed against its cool surface, when his husband walks butt-ass-naked into the room.

Gavin's drunk. This is, in fact, the first time Tempest Quinn has ever seen him drunk. But even through the alcohol, he knows that this could be a problem for some people. That it would be awkward. That there would be a scene.

But Martín del Mar has seen Temp's dick, and graded his nudes, and Gavin only giggles.

"Babe, you're naked." Thanks, Captain Obvious. "Mm. Sorry. Did we wake you up? Were trying to be quiet..."

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Right, the spare room. It was a scarce-used guest bedroom since Serena Malcolm had moved out. He nods in affirmation to his husband's offer.

A lazy grin turns wolfish at Temp's threat. When he tries to pull away after kissing Gavin's cheek, Gavin slings an arm around him to keep him close. It's overly affectionate even by their standards. Alcohol has rendered him loose and playfully combative, golden gaze sparkling with mirth and glazed from intoxication.

"Mm, what are you gonna do about it, morning breath?"

Canines flash before he leans in to kiss Temp's jaw, chaste, then pulls away for the sake of their guest.

"I'll go get changed." He won't admit it, but he likes it when Temp fusses over him. Turning to Mars, he says, "We should do this again. Maybe not so much." As in, drink less, but more frequently. "Spare room is... over there."

He gestures in the vaguely correct direction after slipping off the barstool, steadying his weight against the kitchen island.

"Ugh. I haven't drank this much since college."

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