"Oh, you wouldn't like me drunk." That was most definitely a lie. He'd be bubblier and gigglier than Gabriel was at the moment. But best not put that image in anyone's head. And if he was called 'Mr. Brit' one more time, he might have to correct that. (But which name to go with?)

With a sigh, he stepped up to the inebriate, resting a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him from sliding off again. "I think we should pay your tab, and then perhaps you should head on back to your room. You wouldn't want to be caught passed out drunk after hours, would you? Or find yourself with a sickened stomach and a worse-off liver."