If he knew that this girl holds the secret to writing on walls around here (i.e. magic chalk), she'd already be his best friend. Or, well, slightly less of a nuisance, at least. But as it stands, he's visibly startled out of his drunken stupor reverie by the sound of a voice, a surprised little hiccup escaping him as he protectively curls around his notebook. Probably some kind of deep-seated reflex born of growing up with six children possessing the uncanny talent to be the most annoying when he was trying to study.

But he's not a child and the face peeking over the table edge doesn't belong to one of his siblings. "What? No! What?" Coherent, concise, nailed it. Let's just agree to ignore the way his voice cracked halfway through that. He squints at her with some offense, willing his vision to stop being blurry already. "Hey, I know you!"