Alfred was very well aware he was drunk, and didn't feel guilty about it in the slightest. The day before he'd been subjected to a seemingly endless parade of wealthy people, and he'd behaved himself the entire time, which given his social history since his return from the wilderness was particularly impressive. It had also been exhausting, and although he knew that smoozing with people who had money was necessary if he actually wanted to go anywhere, he still felt as though he deserved something of a reprieve. Here, surrounded by his predominantly working class sailors and other restless middle class men like himself, he felt as though he could really let loose and actually enjoy himself before the real work started.

So he didn't feel guilty about being drunk. Someone had gone to fetch his captain's coat, (as a joke, he thought, since he'd been forced to wear it entirely buttoned the entire night before to impress the rich folks) and thrown it loosely over his shoulders. It was too warm of an evening to actually wear a coat (he had even taken the liberty of unbuttoning the top three or four buttons of his shirt, leaving the tops of his tattoos peaking out in the ever-changing vee of skin as he moved), but he was enjoying cavorting around on his ship, surrounded by his men, and being called 'Captain.'

He was enjoying himself a good deal, at any rate, until he was suddenly face to face with a girl he hadn't been expecting to see. Alfred had been in the middle of a laugh when he saw her, but it died in his throat. "Miss Zelda," he exclaimed. He ought to have called her Miss Fisk, but it was too late for that. He couldn't help it; he'd never thought of her that way. Miss Fisk was someone he'd gone to school with; Miss Fisk was another boring English girl. It just didn't seem to fit her, and never had. Miss Zelda, on the other hand, was far too familiar, given the tenor of their last conversation, and he knew it.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, wondering whether the question sounded like an accusation or not. He hadn't intended it as such, but he really didn't have any idea what could have brought her here. She surely would have mentioned it previously if she had a friend or relative on his expedition, and she never had, so he thought it rather unlikely that she was here for someone else.

Had she come tonight to see him? Did she plan to try and convince him to change his mind about their last conversation? Was there any chance that her methods of convincing him would involve her asking to kiss him again, or perhaps even trying to initiate one herself? Merlin, he hadn't prepared for anything like this — but there had been no reason to, because he'd had no reason to assume he would see her again before the ship departed.

(Could she tell that he was drunk? How obvious was it? He suddenly wished that he wasn't).