It’s an experiment in limitations, unofficially titled how drunk is too drunk for a person who doesn’t do the drunk thing. The mistake had been in thinking that a few extra drinks would do nothing more than loosen a few of Neil’s strings. Andrew had forgotten to consider the unfortunate side effect, that alcohol amplifies natural tendencies, and so as soon as Neil hits one too many, he takes the opportunity to thoroughly roast all of his teammates (with the exception of Andrew, who spends the evening braced for it anyway).
The non-monsters plus Nicky (and baby Foxes, whose existence Andrew ignores on principal) only egg him on, while Neil remains oblivious to the fact that they’re exceedingly entertained and not mortally wounded, like he intends. It’s a mess that Andrew watches silently from the kitchen, carefully nursing his own drink, while making sure Neil doesn’t do or say anything irreversibly stupid, or there would be additional messes for Andrew to clean in the morning.
It’s all well and good, fun and games, no one quite loses an eye, but Neil trips over a chair leg on his merry way to assault Kevin and goes sprawling on the carpet instead, amid a laughing (but concerned) chorus of fellow drunkards.
Neil rolls onto his back and claps a hand to his forehead, even though it was not his head that he hit, but most everything else.
Relinquishing the stormy hold he has on the empty kitchen, Andrew crosses the living room to loom over Neil, unimpressed and ignoring the triumphant cheers and disappointed groans as money exchanges hands behind them. (The game: how badly will Neil’s first drunken adventure end? Provide examples. Nicky whines, “Twenty bucks on Kevin bitch slapping him. So close. Damn chair. You rigged it, Allison, you put that there.” She did not.)
Neil looks up at him through his fingers and with unfocused eyes, but he smiles brilliantly. Andrew considers wiping it off of his face with his foot, but then Neil says, practically sings, “Andrew.”