[ assuming the effects of alcohol on him here are the same as they were back home, Castiel begins his drinking festivities with the standard ratio of 5:1. Welp, assuming makes an ass of one dumb angel boy who quickly discovers his physiology, like his powers, aren’t as on par as he’d hoped.
Once soused enough he’s retired to a lazy slump on a comfy couch, what little filter and social manner Cas possessed rapidly evaporates. Cas becomes weak to the compulsory urge to correct biblical history, occasionally announcing unprompted information to the gathering, such as when a winter-themed carol is sung, or he just happens to stare at a holly leaf too long, there's a vaguely grumpy proclamation — ]
Christ was born in June.
[ Throughout the festivities, you can find Cas:
— Running blunt commentary on the holiday and Jesus-themed trivia: the star wasn’t part of the original plan but the Magi had a miserable sense of direction; evergreens were never native to Bethlehem; Christ was allergic to olives, yet often gifted olive branches, so divine intervention was taken to avoid him breaking into hives at inopportune moments - praying at Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives was just cheeky (then: a dorky giggle) — Insisting he isn’t drunk just before stumbling into a table, then walking it off like nothing happened — Inconspicuously (he thinks (he’s wrong)) taking a quick sniff of someone’s shoulder. Don’t worry, he’s just checking your blood alcohol content — Trying on other peoples' hats — At peak levels of wasted - declaring laws for his sovereign territory, the Christmas Inn, such as: if the bird lands nearby a food tribute must be paid, all hats must be appropriate levels of jaunty (see Jaskier for approval), Dean Winchester is allowed one (1) utterly nonsensical declaration completely free of context clues per half hour. His only claim to lordship is the garland crown Ciri plopped on him, and these laws aren't enforced, save for a sweet roll tossed at the back of Dean’s head if something makes fuck all sense to 80% of the company — At the end of the night, practically melted into a chair next to the fire, angled out to watch the others still socializing, with a soft, distant smile, quietly soaking in the atmosphere ]
castiel
Once soused enough he’s retired to a lazy slump on a comfy couch, what little filter and social manner Cas possessed rapidly evaporates. Cas becomes weak to the compulsory urge to correct biblical history, occasionally announcing unprompted information to the gathering, such as when a winter-themed carol is sung, or he just happens to stare at a holly leaf too long, there's a vaguely grumpy proclamation — ]
Christ was born in June.
[ Throughout the festivities, you can find Cas:
— Running blunt commentary on the holiday and Jesus-themed trivia: the star wasn’t part of the original plan but the Magi had a miserable sense of direction; evergreens were never native to Bethlehem; Christ was allergic to olives, yet often gifted olive branches, so divine intervention was taken to avoid him breaking into hives at inopportune moments - praying at Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives was just cheeky (then: a dorky giggle)
— Insisting he isn’t drunk just before stumbling into a table, then walking it off like nothing happened
— Inconspicuously (he thinks (he’s wrong)) taking a quick sniff of someone’s shoulder. Don’t worry, he’s just checking your blood alcohol content
— Trying on other peoples' hats
— At peak levels of wasted - declaring laws for his sovereign territory, the Christmas Inn, such as: if the bird lands nearby a food tribute must be paid, all hats must be appropriate levels of jaunty (see Jaskier for approval), Dean Winchester is allowed one (1) utterly nonsensical declaration completely free of context clues per half hour. His only claim to lordship is the garland crown Ciri plopped on him, and these laws aren't enforced, save for a sweet roll tossed at the back of Dean’s head if something makes fuck all sense to 80% of the company
— At the end of the night, practically melted into a chair next to the fire, angled out to watch the others still socializing, with a soft, distant smile, quietly soaking in the atmosphere ]