Wish You Were Beer

Zo burst out laughing, pounding the table. The drinks sloshed, the cutlery rattled, and more than a few heads turned. There were tears in his eyes when he managed to recover himself and he rubbed them away. 

"Ye've got t'be the prickliest woman I know." 

And he didn't mind that. There wasn't any shame or guilt laced into his words, nothing to make her feel bad for it. Zo figured it was a quirk of hers, to verbally assault the one person she sought to be around (him). Without people to talk to, she just kept all her words inside, and when she was around him, she let them out all in a rush, a waterfall, an avalanche, a tropical storm of words assailing him. It was just a good thing he was so genial and a tiny bit sloshed. The food was doing its job, helping him sober up. That and his metabolism. 

He leaned forward, and gestured conspiratorially with her, looking over his shoulder to see if there was going to be a serving lad or lass passing by. When there wasn't he lowered his head so he could murmur to her. 

"So ye think I'm attractive then, do ye?" 

He leaned back, laughing again, both arms wrapped around his middle.