[ WP ] Write a story where the narrator is drunk and his best friend is behind him trying to convince him to go home .

`` You gon na get him under control?'' A particularly drunk or dumb man asked me. The smart and sober left the bar as soon as they saw a scavenger enter. Even most of the impaired had the sense to leave when the scavenger got visibly drunk. 
 
 The bar only had six people left in it. The nervous bartender, the drunk scavenger, two men passed out on the counter, me, and this fool too drunk to leave, but too sober to pass out. `` Yes.'' 
 
 I kept the reply short, hoping the man would get the message. 
 
 He did n't. `` Good, cause this dirt-walking fool scared all the women out.'' 
 
 The scavenger stopped his swaying, body instantly going straight. He turned to the man and stared. 
 
 `` Gerald.'' I whispered, hands on his shoulders. `` He does n't mean it.'' 
 
 Gerald nodded and looked away, swaying once more. `` Well, I do n't mean this.'' 
 
 He turned back quickly, inhumanly so. His hand held the hilt of a small dagger, now embedded in the man's neck, severing his spinal cord. 
 
 *Dirt*. 
 
 `` Gerald, we have to go.'' I grabbed him and stood, praying to the gods both above *and* below that he would follow suit. Killing the man would mean a fine. If Gerald was anyone else, it would mean a hanging, but a scavenger was far too valuable and difficult to train. In some respects, he was above the law. 
 
 Scavengers were the most important men on the floating city. Daring the Great Below to resupply. Most never returned. Gerald had seen two missions, making him a seasoned veteran in their ranks. 
 
 He stood. *Thank you, * I thought to whoever was listening. 
 
 We walked out of the bar, him stumbling, me supporting. 
 
 He did n't speak, but he had teary eyes. He had a another mission in two days. Too proud to admit fear. 
 
 *What did you see down there, old friend*? 
 
 We walked in the night, away from the bar and toward the barracks. He could sleep it off.
