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Continued from last week...

At a certain time, it was apparent that they had managed, in some form or another, to attract the attentions of the waiter in a more traditional manner, or perhaps it was the waiter who took pity on them (though his motivations for doing so are nonexistent, at best, himself being a failed actor (or successful waiter, turning the half empty glass of water upside down, which he'd rarely done, again affirming his postive waiter status as opposed to his 'failed actor'ness) and quite well versed in the importance of motivation and makeup, though the makeup isn't entirely relevant in this case), and the attentions resulted in a great bowl of nachos hiding somewhere beneath a pile of colourful drippy substances that tasted, alternately, hot, sweet, peppery, dry, and spicey hot, a plate full of burritos (chicken), and another plate of enchiladas (also chicken, a harmless enough order in that it didn't imply the heartless and hearty ruthlessness associated with beef, nor did it give either the impression that the other was some sort of tree-hugging vegetarian (though hugging the trees before eating them is possibly a more sinister moral course of action than sticking a fork in a piece of stuff resembling a cow a whole lot less than asparagus resembles asparagus not on a plate, if you've never happened to have hugged a cow or other beef-producing creature (other cows)) all appearing on the table in between the two of themselves, where previously there had only been glasses of water.
The two of them were sitting quite quietly, staring at the untouched politically sensitive dishes before themselves, having learned from the many flavoured things in the bowl, that they couldn't risk actually putting anything of real substance in their mouth without risking looking ridiculous and/or messy and that the simplest of gestures became considerably more difficult to control when adding in the extra edible props (her eye and eyebrow smiling manoeuvres proving almost deadly when combined with nachos) and the drippy nature of the food lead to the disastrously potentially adverbally and sexually loaded instance when one or the other might have cause to lick their fingers in order to corral errant drippy stuff.
In the intervening negative eating that went on, she finished her water, as did he, and they ordered wine each. Or, rather, he ordered wine, she said yes, a yes which happened to follow a question from the waiter along the lines of "and will you have wine yourself, as well, madame?"
After the wine, which was drunk in much shorter time than you might expect at dinner, though as quickly as you'd expect at a dinner during the course of which neither party involved ate anything instead choosing to imbibe in the much easier to manage liquid form of sustenance, she ordered a coffee, to counteract the drowsy effect the wine was having on herself and he did, as well, finding it the easier option, the waiter this time not even bothering to ask but simply wiggling a few of his fingers in such a manner that might suggest that he was assuming the other would like one of the same, as well.
The resulting chemical experimentation with wine, then more coffee, wine, two teas, coffees, as the teas hadn't seemed to have worked all that well for making them any more alert, then two glasses of wine and a shared pint of stout as the coffee and tea combined to produce rather worrying physical shaking-like effects in the both of them, espresso, a half carafe of sangria, two tequila shots and margaritas because they forgot which they were due to have next as a result of the sangria going to their heads quite a bit, black coffee to counteract the as-yet dormant tequila in their system which unfortunately, had the opposite effect of waking the tequila within, and a chocolate and strawberry milkshake, see-sawed the two of them between states of lethargy and almost hallucinatory awareness. It was a troubling mixture which threatened to exhaust the last two brain cells in his head that were fully aware that he was not, in fact a good dancer, an impression that the rest of his brain cells, somewhere along the line and through no compelling evidence and quite a good deal of it to the contrary, had acquired and were persistently allowing him to review as the beverages came and went across the table.
All the while the chicken dishes sat.

Which was to lead them to the pier and lead one of them (by the hand of the other) into the water.

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