sixwordstories | (no subject)

Current Location: Dungeons & Dragons • OTA!
Current Music: Is he cheering you up, playing darts or a drinking game? Something else? :)

Entry tags:

roleplay

(no subject)

All right, next drink's on me!

You're quite a hearty drinker, for one so-- [The hand not holding his (sadly now empty) tankard of mead gestures grandly at Alastair's head] --wraith-like.

[Don't worry, Alastair. Going off the grin, Thor thinks he's being funny, not rude.]

[The monastic order that Lee joined years ago, with a light but serious heart and all the passion one could muster for the dispassionate, forbids harming your own body. Fasting must be done properly and safely, selfish risks are not allowed and are considered separate from rescuing others, and suicide is most assuredly against their code.

As is imbibing any substance that alters the mind. --With few, limited exceptions for those attempting trances and journeys and very intense encounters with spirits and God or Goddess.

Which had been exactly the point that Alastair had harped on for days, when Lee made the mistake of letting the precise details slip to him. Since then he'd been cajoling her to go out drinking with him, excited like a dog knowing his master was about to throw a ball for him. Lee had refused. And refused. And refused some more. She'd even made a point of doing it once he stopped asking.

And then, finally, she'd thought that trying it out, and thinking of it as a spiritual experience, might both shut Alastair up and her own regrettably-curious mind. That had been three hours ago.]

Alas-- Alastair. [Lee is frowning very deligently at the left-hand Alastair. In a serious voice, she advises:] I think I've had enough.

Stop moving and answer me. [Was there a question? She had probably asked a question. Whatever she'd just said, Alastair hadn't responded appropriately yet. Goddamn him and his carefree attitude. As soon as he stops dancing around her she's going to knock it right out of his braided head.]

Eh? {Alastair's face ripples with amusement to confusion.} I didn't think I was that ugly, how much've you 'ad to drink, mate?

{The barmaid brings them another round of delicious amber brew and Alastair thumb-flips a silver piece onto the table -- mind you, he has an open tab going.

She grins and scurries away with it happily, and Alastair chuckles with genuine nonchalance.}

So, er...you were telling me about some duel with... {Alastair snaps his fingers, murmuring oddly to himself.} Hrun...Hrungnir? {Gah, and he Dwarven was difficult to pronounce!}

Edited 2013-06-23 01:05 (UTC)

{Alastair's excited grinning and laughing comes screeching to an abrupt halt. His hand up in the air to wave down the barmaid slowly slips back down to their table, and his brow knits together in apprehensive concern.}

Y'okay there, bud? {He leans in and gently bumps his fist against her shoulder.} You...gonna be sick, r'something?

[Confusement or not on his new drinking buddy's face, Thor has always been more a leader than a follower. He laughs heartily and smacks Alastair on the back in a friendly manner that really wasn't meant to send him creaking up against the tabletop.] You fish for compliments like a shy maiden! I was merely talking about your...svelte form. [Is that a better word, your skinny highness?

Thor smiles at the barmaid as well, grin only stilling when Alastair asks a question that requires a story.] Yes! Well, Hrungnir wasn't an honorable man, and when my father challenged him to a race of their steeds and won, he turned into a drunk that was far less pleasant than yourself.

Like most of his kind, though, his deed couldn't quite hold up to his word. [Thor's smiling, but it's a little more absent, not as gloating as he usually feels about his past battles.

Jotun aren't the happiest of subjects for him, anymore. He smiles in a much more solid, determined manner but there's a cheer ever still burning in his eyes.] And yourself? What duels have you entered lately?

[Lee frowns and leans in as well, their foreheads practically touching. When he taps her shoulder she sways with the motion, partially from surprise and her body feeling like a piece of damp cloth, and partially because the circular movement back away from him feels oddly pleasant.

And makes it even easier to sock him in the arm in return, with a bit of power behind it. She's pretty far gone, of course, and so her punch is more of a normal hit than her usual power - Lee's version of a kitten-like jab - and right at the bottom attachment of his deltoid where the muscles just barely part and open up the bone a bit easier. Ha.]

'M not sick, 'm jus enough. [No, not right.] 'M just done. [Much better.] Don't be such a baby.

[Far from trying to leave, though, Lee is beginning to settle in and lay against their table as though it's a comfortable bed.]

"Ah-ow!" Alastair yelps when Lee's bony knuckle pinches at his bone through flesh and muscle, flinging backward to dodge out of the girl's range. He rubs at his arm gingerly with an aggressive pout.

"Oy, if you're gonna beat me up, you'll have no one to get you home, will you?"

The barmaid seemed to have heard Alastair's offer for another round of drinks but not Lee's refusal, but Alastair doesn't correct it when she brings the two beers. More for himself!

But then he eyes the girl laying on the table, with some weight of concern. "'Ey now, you wanna go home?" He asks with a much softer voice, nudging her arm gently.

Alastair won't stop moving, dancing in her vision with a watery grace that Lee knows isn't real. Unfortunately, that knowledge doesn't correct her eyesight.

At his threat, she positively freezes - or so she thinks, swaying as she ever is with her off-kilter balance - and stares at him with nothing short of hate. "I would, but I'll get myself home, thank you very much!" Threatening to abandon her? She'll show him! She'll walk out first.

It takes a moment to work out which direction to push against the table, but soon enough she's lurching upright, her impeccable sense of balance quite gone and leaving her adrift. Her emotions, too, have suddenly clouded - Lee feels as though her chest is tightening despite the heavy feeling in her belly. Perhaps it's dragging it down along with it, the ale weighing her down.

It would explain why she feels like throwing herself to the floor. She begins to stalk past Alastair and promptly crashes against their table, nearly upending it and causing quite a racket, but stubbornly keeps moving. In a vague door-like direction.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only