The town is pretty quiet at this time, not being big enough to really have much of a nightlife other than a pub or two. Zash follows the buzzing sounds of people to try to find one and then hurries up a bit when he catches that there's some kind of commotion happening inside. He's at the door when he has to immediately dodge because someone is being bodily thrown out.

Two women walk out to follow the person, entirely ignoring Zash. "Pay for your own booze, old man," says one of them, grabbing a gun and pointing it at her target. "If you try to pull that on us again I'll fill you with lead."

    The man looks up at her without flinching, the tip of the gun touching the tip of his nose. He has a vague smile and reeks of alcohol, and the impression of drunkenness is exacerbated by how he sways in place even though he's sitting up on the ground and resting his weight on his hands too.

The woman tsks, making a disgusted face, and uses her gun to hit the man on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground, before walking back into the pub.

(No killing intent, though. That was a bluff.)

Zash rushes to the man's aid, dropping to one knee. "Hey, friend. Are you okay?"

The man, who is trying to sit up again and mostly failing, turns his dumb grin to Zash. "Heeeey... I recognise you..."

Oh no.

"You're my friend who's buying me booze." His eyes lose focus and he amends that to: "Friends! Twins. You didn't tell me you had a twin!"

...or not. "Come on, let me help you up."

If by "help him up" Zash means "support all of his weight" then this man is absolutely going to be helped up. "Waiiit, where'd your twin go?"

"He's in February."

"Feb" (hic) "ruary?"

"It's one of the big Cities."

"...izzit? Is, December, Julai, I" (hic) "Inepril, May, uh... uh... Oc... Oc..." He shakes his head and then squeezes his eyes shut for a second. "I guezz. Makes sense."

"Come on, friend, where do you live? I'll get you home."

"Home... izzzzz..." He points at the pub. "Here."

"No, that's the pub."

"Home izz" (hic) "where the heart izzzzz and my heaaart is the beeeautyyyyy..."

"Ah huh. And where do you usually sleep, then?"

"Innn..... some... where." Hic. "Friend, buy me a drink. Onnnne drink. One? Then home. I show you where home iz."

On the one hand getting this man another drink sounds like a terrible idea, but on the other Zash doesn't have a better idea for how to get this man home and besides people in the pub might be able to tell him where the town drunk lives.

"I'll think about it," he says, and then hyup he's mostly carrying this guy in now but that's okay he's stronger than he looks.

The two women who had been threatening this man look up at their entrance (as does everyone else, really, this is a small town pub) and give them a dirty look but don't otherwise object. Most of the others get back to minding their business, with the exception of the bartender. "You," she says, holding out a hand to Zash. "Gun."

"—eh?"

"You're not carrying a gun in here."

He nods in the direction of the two women. "They are carrying guns."

"I know them. I don't know you. Gun."

You know what, fair enough. He reaches for the gun he has holstered against his thigh then twirls it around to offer the woman its handle. "Can we get a table?"