sixwordstories | (no subject)

At some point, Sam, it's not "hogging" so much as "defending you from yourself." [Which isn't to say he's not drinking while he keeps the bottle to himself. Out of love.]

It is hogging when I paid for the damned thing, Cynric. Give it the fuck back.

[Love, bullshit. Cheapskate.]

Try t' do something good for the safety of the general public, honestly. [Here. Have it back, ridiculous hack-and-slash whom he loves despite this cruel treatment.] You're a touch too tall for me to drag to bed, you know.

[A snort.] N'worry. Ain't gonna go bein' stupid. [THIS TIME. That incident with the goat and the chambermaid will not be spoken of again. Ever. EVER.

Sam took back the boggle, upended it, then slammed it down on the rickety table. He grinned slyly.]

Didn't know ya liked me like that, Songbird.

[Not spoken of, but never forgotten. Persons in that village had possibly ended up with permanent damage to their perception of reality for having it smoothed over.

The snap of his fingers is brief.] Damn. Forgot again you aren't a ridiculously flat-chested woman.

[Because, you know.

Lady-hair.]

Har. Har. I lose one bet with that asshole dwarf and you never let me live it down.

[HEY. He spent YEARS growing that shit out. Shut up.]

[ Sean had only been holding onto it for a second, smelling it, staring down into it. Utterly and completely unsure by it! Would it taste familiar, or even good? The sudden protest had him passing the bottle on in any case. Maybe he'll try the next round. ]

Here you are, sorry.

And I never will. That's a promise.

[A promise made out of LOVE again.]

Shut up. That rat bearded little troll was cheatin', he was.

[He'd just been too lit to realize it until after the games were over.]

[Kid had a look Samson had seen before, believe it. He'd learned to spy it a long time ago; seemed the "powers that be" were still running sheep through here, probably to satisfy their own sadistic kicks. Assholes.]

Hey, kid. Ain't from here, are ya?

[And this is why sword-types needed non-sword-types with them. Also to not be so drunk as to decide not to listen to their non-sword-types.

Also to not let their non-sword-types also become moderately intoxicated.]

And have we learned our lesson from it?

[ Sean softly shook his head, ] no.. I guess I stick out like a pink elephant. [ He had to wonder though, was it bad that he wasn't from here? Were there unnecessary and dangerous prejudices that went with being a stranger here? ]

Ah.. is that bad?

Yeh. Punch all dwarfs just on principle.

[A sloppy shrug.] Depends. [Samson actually tossed back the bottle.] Have a swig.

[ The bottle was accepted gratefully at the revelation of depends. Sean was nervous about the reception here, much as he was nervous about it at home, that didn't change. It was strange, with so much change around him, this environment, this new world, these people!––he still didn't feel much different. As in, he felt as different as ever, a feeling he's grown up with in his home town. ]

Thanks. [ He took a sip of the mead, then further a gulp and shut his eyes to the taste of its bitterness. He set it down and slid it back over toward the fellow man. ] Eh.. [ A small grimace as his taste buds were trying to make sense of the drink, if he's had anything near to it at all. ] Depends on who I talk to? Who finds out? Who do I need to .. hide from?

[Sam picked up the bottle again, only it in his hand keeping his eyes from rolling back in his head. Oh, poor lamb. This one would probably be troll shit within the week.]

Kid--look. Lemme guess, ya woke up th' other mornin' with a bitch of a headache, not a clue how you'd got to the middle of a buncha fuckin' trees and ain't been able to find the "way back home", right?

...no, Samson.

[Try again.]

Literally living in a cave. [ Sean nodded, finding the expression uncomfortably perfect for his predicament. What, you been living under a rock!? How true, how true. ]

Why not? Saves time.

Ayeah, I figured.

Better getcha a sword, if ya ain't got one. 'cause there's shit all over the place that'll eat that tender lil' ass. Or didja get magic instead, huh?

A.. sword.

[ Sean lowers his eyes and brings up his hands to look at. He didn't even like holding guns at home. Hunting, no.. the best he's ever done was fishing, it was a calm hunting. A nice tender, silent, ... hunting. Not shooting, that was loud, obnoxious and the deer.. and geese .. and their horrid noises. But eating them wasn't too bad. ]

I.. I'm no good at fighting. [ His brother was good at that. There wasn't many glorious stories of his history in regards to confrontations. But there were a few of Mike coming to his defense. ]

Because we like being alive and not killed by a hoard of angry dwarves. Mass suggestion isn't easy.

What, you can't run that fast no more? Whassa matter, Songbird, ya gettin' old?

[This brat was so toast. Crispy toast, even. Samson shook his head.]

Lemme explain somethin'. Remember those movies back in the "good ol' days" 'bout knights, princesses, dragons, that sorta shit? [Well, God only knew what passed for film entertainment now, but still. Hell, they probably had flying cars back home.] This place's just like that. Right down t'the fire-breathin' dragons. It's all real, it's all right outside, and yer stuck right in it.

[He took another long swallow of bitter brew and snorted.] Believe me, I know.

[Snort.] Only because you're running me t' an early grave. [Except, well. Sigh.] An' I know I shouldn't complain. 've got worlds worse'n you following me around these days.