Blackmoor Castle. >
He'd stashed away the spare alcohol and wine within his homely farmhouse back in the packlands only a few days after Addison's arrival into his little household a few months prior. The last thing he needed was the curious child getting into the booze and messing up her life while still under his care. What obscure alcoholic tastes former pack members had once had, he couldn't explain; he himself was no drunk, had no means or expectations to liberate himself by the use of reckless alcoholic indulgence.
That was what he had believed, anyway. Now, months later, he'd gathered the beverages in a bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left the packlands unannounced. DaVinci was around, one way or another, and it had been quiet lately. Addison was under Geneva's care for the day, and now, as if something had told him to destroy the alcohol or something to that general extent, but it hadn't happened. Instead, general thirst and curiosity got the best of him somewhere on his travels, and soon enough, the one-eyed idiot had drunkenly stumbled into an unfamiliar castle: bottle in his single hand, eye unfocused and spinning, wicked grin set on his face. He'd only had a few sips--his tolerance wasn't exactly high--but already the one-eyed brute was set in a different world. Stumbling up the steps to the castle, he evidently didn't have the slightest clue where he was, but despite that, beer goggles had made every sight a thousand times more intriguing. Not only that, but he was mumbling some incessant melody, one he probably wouldn't have been able to explain later: "How many people chaaange? Howww many lives are livin' strange...?" Hiccup. "Where were you whens weee were gettin' hiiiigh?" Hiccup.