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A gentle tap to the shoulder roused Eomer from his torpor back into reality, his eyes darting quickly who had touched him. Nemeia. Following her gaze his attention was drawn once again to the battered girl, this time talking directly to Ezlan. Judging from the swiftness of the Tiefling's reaction the Badlander's initial gut feelings towards the girl's words were indeed correct, even if he couldn't recall their importance through the fog that had settled itself rather comfortably over his mind; that, or Nemeia just wished to save the maiden from the I'll fate destiny has doled to the girl in the form of Ezlan. The latter scenario Eomer was more than happy to stand behind in his bitter state.

Either way it was enough to draw Eomer away from his wallow of pity, and more importantly the alcohol he was choosing to drown himself with. Using his arms way more than should be required to balance, hands grasping desperately on to the edges of tables, with a slight sway in his step he followed Nem's path through the room. Eomer placed himself beside Nemeia, ensuring she was between himself and the Caerbean. At this moment he did not trust himself this close to the sailor, especially with the booze flooding his system currently, and believes that the Tiefling would step in if he or Ezlan managed to overstep a boundary. The Badlander relegated himself to the sidelines on this one, not that he'd be much good in a calm conversation presently anyway. Instead, he leaned backwards against the table to his rear, palms resting on the flat surface. He was listening to the girl speak, but his cold eyes were trained solely on Ezlan.