"Well, maybe a little," Tarlac conceded. "When a teenage kid's as tall as I am and masses at least twice as much, it's nice to see someone smaller. And speaking of size—" He held up his drink, about the tenth or twelfth glass he'd traded. "This wine doesn't have much of a kick, but even if I only take a sip every time I meet someone, it won't be long before I'm wiped out. You might stay fairly sober, but I won't be able to, even if I were used to drinking. I'll probably make an ungodly fool of myself."
Hovan grinned. "Probably, and it expected is. The wine mild is because you small are. If you Traiti were, we would something stronger drinking be. No adoption party successful is, unless the new ruhar must in bed poured be."
Tarlac had to laugh. "By that standard, ruhar, this'll likely be the most successful adoption party in Traiti history! But let's not make it a success too early, okay? I'm hungry."
"Food good sounds," Hovan agreed. "And I will with you stay, in case anything must translated be. Ka'ruchaya Yarra and I the only two are, who much English speak."
Several more drink-trades later, Tarlac made it to one of the well-stocked tables and built himself a thick sandwich. That process got quite a few interested comments, but by Traiti custom none were addressed to him until he'd finished eating. When he was done, the interest in getting him drunk was replaced, at least temporarily, by inquiries about the new way of fixing something to eat. It was hard for the Ranger to believe that people as enthusiastic about food as the Traiti hadn't either stumbled across something as simple as a sandwich, or purposely developed it, but their keen attention and the eager experimentation that followed made it clear they hadn't.
Unfortunately for Tarlac's sobriety, that respite didn't last long. Within half an hour, his n'ruhar were again introducing themselves. Hovan wasn't needed often as a translator; with so many anxious to meet their new relative, Tarlac had very limited opportunities for conversation.
He soon lost any trace of doubt that he would live up to custom, too, whether he wanted to or not. By the time about a third of those in the gathering hall had introduced themselves, he had a distinct buzz on. He had also come to the firm, if rather woozy, conclusion that these people, his new family, were the finest in the galaxy. Especially the big gray-skinned guy beside him, the brother he'd never had. Before.
He was never sure, later, how many more of Ch'kara he did meet. Things were getting blurry and disconnected, and never improved. He did remember singing, probably off-key, and later hanging onto Hovan's arm for support.
Hovan felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down to see a silly grin on Steve's upturned face. The man mumbled something, so slurred Hovan couldn't make it out, then released Hovan's arm and closed unfocussed eyes to slump bonelessly to the floor, still smiling.
Looking around at the n'ruhar who had seen Steve's collapse, Hovan translated the Ranger's earlier prediction aloud into Language, then smiled indulgently down at him. "And it seems he was right. He has had a very successful party. Time to pour him, as I promised, into bed." He stooped, picked up the slightly-built man with no difficulty, and turned to Yarra. "I think he'd better sleep in the infirmary tonight, Ka'ruchaya."