Vodquila

Damascus' voice awoke me from some hazy reverie.
I squinted, taking a moment to remember what he had said.

"Oh! Overr, over here. Hello."

Damascus stumbled over to Boris, guided by his voice, and relieved clarity washed over his features as soon as he came close.

"Ah, theere youh are." He smiled and patted Boris' head fondly. "Whaat wash aye...? Oh, rihgt."

Flexing his fingers, he wiggled his eyebrows in a goofy manner and shifted his form to match his brother's.

The quality of the image fluctuated, like a lens coming in and out of focus, until it finally landed on a quasi-clear product.

"Woulja... Wouhdjaa lookit that.." He waved a hand in front of his face, before palming the point of his nose.

Chest puffed with even more pride, he looked back up at Boris and eagerly waited for a reaction.

It was a very curious sight, to see Damascus share my form so nearly, from the shapes, to the unhealthy pallor. Was that merely the lighting?

"Huh. Damn. Lookit, indeed." I said, impressed. I leaned forward, and slid a finger over Damascus' newly hooked nose, then across his widened cheekbones, before I lost my balance, and ended up poking him in the cheek.

"Sh..shorry." I said, and patted him on the shoulder in recompense.

I sat back, and looked over it all again.

"I reallly should wear red more often." I mumbled.

"Oh, yeshhh, youh should." Damascus clumsily agreed, and fumbled with the buttons of his now-oversized jacket, struggling to undo them. "Aww, thish 's haaard..." he murmured under his breath.

Finally, he managed to slip the jacket off, and he gently slid it over Boris' shoulders.

"T- theehre. Looksh loveleh." He smiled widely in encouragement and slipped back into his usual form, left with a white button-up shirt. "Jushht, jusht kehp it. I- I can get mooore."

Wilson laughed in amusement as Damascus took on everyone's different forms. With a giddy smile, she hopped on her feet, and rushed up beside him. "Hey! Do me next!"

I pulled the jacket closer around me, and snuggled into it.

"Oh, yesh! Do, do Wilshon."

"Oh, yesh, Wilshon!" Damascus beamed and turned his attention toward her. "Comee, come hehre." He slurred, though she was right next to him.

Squinting hard, he shifted his features a final time, and his stature shrunk significantly. As tired as he was starting to become with the continuous shifting, the details he imitated came off as blurrier than before.

He took a grand bow, the sleeves of his oversized shirt brushing the ground, and stumbled back up with a wide smile.

Edward drunkenly clapped as Damascus bowed, and Schadel began to realize that the only person still remotely sober as her in the room was Wilson. She couldn't tell if that was a perk of being a grim reaper or not, so she shrugged to herself and downed another drink.

Wilson patted Damascus on the back with a smile.

"Splendid. You did wonderfully complete your dare! You can rest now, bud." She clapped her hands softly, then turned around, looking around the circle. Things had gotten a little out of order, but she doubted any of them would really notice or care much at their stage of drunkenness.

"So uh, I guess - Schadel! We'll have you go next!"

Schadel froze when she realized it was her turn. Edward gave her a reassuring pat on the back, but the fact that he was doing so with so much gusto reminded her of just how drunk he had managed to get. "Could I do a truth?" she asked, knowing that the truth was less likely to humiliate her than a dare would.

Kratzer raised his hand. "Vhat's vith ze shilver cruschifix?" he asked. "You had it back zen, too."

Well, it looked like it really was less humiliating than a dare.

Schadel's gaze dropped down to her cross. She absentmindedly reached up a hand and gave it a tight squeeze, memories of seeing it on Adam's chest flashing through her mind. Part of her almost wished that she was drunk, but the smarter part of realized that it was probably for the best that she was sober.

"It belonged to the first human I ever really met," she said. "His name was Adam. He was a soldier in the first world war, fighting on the German's side. He was injured by some shrapnel during battle, and was in an infirmary. He...He also was the one who really introduced me to what death was like..."

She let go of her cross, casting the briefest of glances in Edward's direction.

She took a deep breath.

"He gave me his cross right before he died. It was a family heirloom," she said. "He was also the one who gave me my name, though Blanx and I both butchered it. Schädel. And when I was coming up with a human identity of my own, I decided that his last name was a good name for me, too."

"I too, have losht people I luhv to war," James slurred, staying rooted in his seat. "I'm shorry for your losht... loss, dear shishter. I'm shure he was a fffine man."

Kratzer raised his glass. "To thoshe losht...in zat fateful combat," he slurred. "From ze sholders taken from their famileesh to the innocshent livesh losht."

I raised my glass, in turn. My glass? Someone's glass.

"May they have peasche, and good company, forevermore." I said, the words stumbling out more blurry and emotional than I had expected them to.

It was hardly an impressive speech, but I hoped that Schadel would appreciate the sentiment.