Pot and Kettle

Sebastian rolled his eyes. It's as if I don't talk, he quipped. You of all people should know it is not my vows that have kept me away from a drink. Not that he should even be trying to reason with her while she was drunk. Many drunks he'd known in his life were petulant children when inebriated and, well, Aoife tended not to be much different. Though it always depended on how much liquor was involved, as with any of his drink-loving friends and acquaintances.

My fault? he echoed, incredulous. Oh, please do enlighten me on how I could possibly prevent you from retaining your dignity. I thought I was a... square?

A frown tugged at his mouth and he threw a glare at the guardsman as he'd returned. Still unhappy he'd not been informed. Especially if she'd specifically said something. That would be an issue to solve later, however. For now, he had a guest to tend to.

Maker's breath, he muttered under his breath.

He wasn't going to argue yet on the matter. Instead, he tied the wineskin to his belt and put an arm around Aoife, guiding her away from the cells and toward the way out. Please don't. The coffers haven't quite recovered from the last time you put holes in things.

Depending on how much contact she'd allow him, he'd guide her out of the prison area and back toward the palace. Otherwise, he'd simply lead her in the direction of the palace - keen to keep a close eye in case she wandered off.