you're on your own, kid

The ground was moving. 

Cal was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to move, like the deck of a ship or a boat (not that Cal had ever been on a boat, but he'd seen it in holos). His hands are clinging to Merrin's arm, who he thinks is not much steadier than he is but she seems a little less ready to face-plant into the mud than he does. 

"Whoops-" he nearly trips over his own feet and laughs. 

He's not sure how much they'd had to drink, he lost track after two? Two drinks of the strongest drink that he'd ever had in his life, and that included the Bracca moonshine that Prauf had gifted him for his guild anniversary when he'd been fifteen years old (he'd meant well, he hadn't known that Cal had had never had anything nearly as strong -- he'd supervised him and then left him on his sofa the next morning -- guilty as he spent the night curled over a fresher).

Whatever it was, and however many it was - it had been fun to drop the Jedi decorum and have some fun, Merrin was about his age, and the two of them were typically running from one mission to another, not much time to stop and simply enjoy themselves. 

BD-1, running ahead of them, stopped and looked back at the Jedi and Nightsister, waiting for them to catch up and making sure that neither one of these dumb organics passed out on him -- he'd warned them when simple scans showed blood alcohol had risen past sobriety and into "organics behaving badly" territory. They'd ignored him, of course. Merrin challenged Cal to "drink him under the table", and he of course wasn't going to turn that opportunity down. Now here they were. He pulled up the map to the mantis again, shook his head, gears whirring, and continued on. 

Seemingly after a very long walk, a Jedi and Nightsister, clinging to one another to stay upright, clambered on board in a tangle of limbs.