"I'm drunk," he reiterated, still in that horrid Irish accent. "Sure Mister Spock's is far worse than me less than best attempts now, Doctor. Can't hold it against me now, can ya?"

Dropping it, he laugh-- And got nailed in the face with the pillow. He fell back dramatically. Mostly for dramatic affect with a side of that floaty, drunken feeling making his balance not what it should be.

Seizing the pillow, he tossed it back and missed, hitting a lamp, but thankfully only tipping it over and not knocking it all the way to the floor. "I am not love struck." Because frankly, the 'l' word was a little terrifying, especially when it was coming from him. Applied to him from someone else, he could handle, but not the other way around.