[Log] Drunken 'Master
Who: I'daur, Talien
When: Day 31, Month 4, Turn 11
Where: I'daur and Zunaeth's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Talien decides to snoop around I'daur's weyr. Too bad he's there--and drunk.
I'daur and Zunaeth's Weyr
The broad, flat ledge of this weyr is unremarkable, just a simple stretch of cool grey stone, a little claw-scraped at the edge. It's the two different sets of stairs that make up its most unusual feature: one series going up, the other down. The steps leading upward are entirely outside, curving up the rock face to end at a small summit--a lookout of sorts. The space is about six feet square; an enterprising former owner has stretched a hammock diagonally across the space to take advantage of the almost constant sun this area receives. Other than a dingy, weather-assaulted blanket and a planter full of dead flowers, there's little else up here, though the view downward into the bowl is amazing.
The second set of stairs from the ledge is covered with heavy canvas more often found in ships' sails. Past that, the weyr is a tidy little space, dominated by its painted walls. Though the baby-blue color has faded slightly and there are numerous scuffs that have taken the paint off in places, it's held up remarkably well--better, at least, than the furniture. The wood looks like driftwood, though at this point it's little more than a pile of rubble that might once have been chair, or table, or desk. The buggy hammock strung up at the back is rotting where it hangs. The decorations on the walls, though, are still serviceable: a faded painting of a ship at sea, a couple of fishing nets hung on those blue walls, and, in the corner, a tiny wooden replica of a boat in full sail.
Contents:
Zunaeth
Obvious exits:
Sky
For all that he's usually drinking, I'daur is rarely drunk, and never seen that way. On the occasions he's inclined to get really drunk, he retreats to his weyr, as he's done now. He's seated on his bed, atop the covers and his back propped up against the headboard, eyes closed. There's one bottle empty by the bedpost, and he has a half-finished one in hand that he's working through steadily. Zunaeth is out on the ledge, left wing stretched out in its usual position.
Talien, not exactly all that adept at being sneaky, chooses the moment when I'daur is home to... sneak into said home. The rider who deposits her on the ledge does so without a second thought; those smiles and that cheerful laugh likely help win him over. In moments, the bluepair are gone, and the Weyrlingmaster's 'assistant' stalks on into the weyr. That she scarcely even pays attention to Zunaeth should be an indication, as it stands, Talien's too full of herself to think logically. Strutting with all the confidence of someone about to have their ass handed to them. Fortunately she doesn't realize it's about to happen, even as she walks on by the bed without realizing - oh, person.
Zunaeth opens one eye as a blue lands, grunting toward him and then the person who dismounts. He turns his head just enough to watch Talien as she enters, but apparently says nothing to his rider because I'daur, inside, doesn't move except to lift his bottle again. Only the sound of footsteps finally clues him that someone is there. His brows knit, and he blinks open his eyes finally to peer at the shadow drifting through, blurry and unfocused. He's silent, for now.
Talien continues being oblivious. She's good at that. Focused, as it's called. She heads toward a desk, intent on rifling through the papers atop it. It's about then some things click into place. One: Wasn't that a dragon out there on the ledge? Two: Rider = Dragon. Talien pales slightly. Not bothering to turn around, she continues shuffling those papers. Turning her snooping efforts into organizing ones. Because that'll save her.
It takes several long secords (and another clumsy drink) for I'daur to get his thoughts in order and actually straighten up a little. "Wha're you doin'?" he asks then. His words are actually slurred around the edges, a sure sign that he's been drinking even more than usual--which is saying something.
Talien, her senses strained and just about riveted on I'daur, flinches at the slur. The paper jockeying stills long before she turns to face the man, at which point she doesn't say anything. She just sort of stares at him, and, still without answering, takes several steps closer. "You're drunk." Incredulous, that little realization. "I - how - you sneaky son of three-legged dogs mother."
That's too many words for I'daur to comprehend, apparently, because he doesn't answer the latter insult. Instead, he studies her a moment, definitely a little unfocused, and finally manages to slur out, "'M not." The smell of strong booze, of course, is apparent as one comes closer, though, and as though that helps his case, he takes another swig of the bottle in hand.
The bottle that is promptly snatched away, or at the very least, the subject of such an attempt. Talien, not being drunk; I'daur, being very drunk... she might stand a chance. Either way? "You're horrible. I just - I don't-" Making all sorts of unpleasant faces, Talien stalks across the weyr to toss the bottle out over the edge of the ledge. Sans warning. Sans second thought it might actually hit something. "I took your marks too. How'd you get that, huh?"
"Hey," I'daur tries to protest, utterly ineffectually as he makes a grab for the bottle and misses by a mile. He scowls and sinks back against the bed. Zunaeth stares while Talien throws the bottle off and even lifts his head enough to whuff at her in amazement. Inside, I'daur kind of just lies there, staring fuzzily after the woman and making no attempt at getting up. "Got friends. Shanlee. Lots'f others," he answers, glowery.
"Oh yeah, I bet you're just brimming with friends," Talien quips, moving back toward him. In passing, Zunaeth gets a glower and Talien's best 'I'm the mother' look; no doubt experienced by the girl many times. "Weren't no where to be seen when I was staying up -all night long- making sure you didn't lose that arm. And they're not here now, either." Talien, at I'daur's side, reaches over to grab hold of his shoulder. If only to pull him onto his side near the edge of the bed. "You're gonna throw up." Beat. "I'm not going to clean it, either."
I'daur says nothing, only purses his lips unhappily and leans over the edge of the bed, nearly tumbling off as he reaches for the empty bottle of earlier. Alas, it's still empty, and he drops it back down disgustedly after he hauls himself back upright. The bottle cracks, but he only notes, "No. I don' do that. Not in..." Long pause. "Long time," he finally decides, after a second of thought that's written plainly on his face.
"You're drunk. Have you ever been drunk before?" Talien, dropping down onto that space just in front of his stomach, pushes him back onto his side. "That's the first thing I did when I realized I was drunk. And it tastes worse coming up than it did going down," Her lips purse in an effort to convey a disdainful expression. "So just. Lay there, okay? When I know you're not gonna crack your head or anything, I'll go and get you some water."
"'M drunk," concedes I'daur finally, one hand tangling in the covers as though to hold him steady. "Not goin' 'nywhere. 'M fine. G'wan, lemme alone. Don't need you hov'rin'." He tries another glower, like those do any good at all on Talien, and then makes a sort of wild wave toward the door. "Zunaeth says he'll take you."
"You're drunk," Talien corrects, painfully eloquent, "And the fact that you can't say it means you're pretty drunk at that." She frowns Zunaeth-wards at the conveying of message from dragon to rider. Without using I'daur to convey her own back, she says, "No. Thank you." To I'daur, anew, "You're making a face. Does that mean you're gonna throw up now?"
I'daur sniffs, shaking his head and looking the worse for it. "No. Doesn't. 'M not," he tells her. "You... G'wan." Because that works so well the first time. "What'd y'do with it? My whiskey. I need it back."
"I sold it." Talien replies, opting for the first (untrue) answer to come to her. "Sush, too. You're making yourself worse." Talien remains stuck in her chosen spot, right in front of I'daur, completely oblivious to all his glares and commands. And while telling him he's drunk and he's going to get sick are all well and good, she opts for new conversation. "How's your arm? You didn't bump it or anything, right?"
"Still attached," says I'daur, and then glances down to make sure it's true. It is. It's even less bandaged than previously as it heals up slowly into a new pattern of scars. "What'm'I s'posed to do without my booze?" he goes right back to the previous subject then. "There's a box under my bed. Keep the best stuff in it. Get it for me, why don'cha."
"You-" Inhaling, Talien pushes up from the bed and crosses the weyr. The dresser is sought out, a drawer pulled open and it's innards are rifled through. She comes up with a shirt, one that's taken with her back to I'daur's side. "You don't need any more booze. You *need* sleep." Deemed while she tries to work the current bandage off, swapping it out for the clean shirt she then winds around his arm.
"I like that shirt," says I'daur, without much feeling as he observes Talien with furrowed brows. "Are you gonna sleep with me?" he asks then.
"Yeah. I've always wanted to," Talien remarks sarcastically, "That's why I'm really here." Finished with the makeshift bandage, "Will you go to sleep now?"
"I meant..." I'daur trails off his slurred words, frowning. "Not sleep with me. Sleep with me. Y'know. 'F you won't g'wan, sleep here. Where I am."
"'cause I can't go back. Obviously." Talien snorts and, in twisting, reaches to haul his boots off. They're flung across the room, one to the far corner, the other toward Zunaeth's ledge. The depth enough to get it there, but not over. Amidst a complaint of 'your feet stink', Talien says, "-you're sleepin' in your clothes. 'cause there's now way...."
"Zunaeth'd take you down," drawls I'daur, watching her with a frown as she pulls off his boots, "'f you ask nice. Usually sleep in m'clothes when'm drunk." Pause. "Usually 'cause I pass out, but," he adds after some brief consideration.
"You just wait," Talien praises, "Pretty soon you'll be an *old* hand at getting drunk. And before you know it, you'll figure out a way to get undressed and then pass out. And when you're really good..." Sarcasm, Talien soon discovers, is usually lost on the drunk. She stops mid-sentence, swallows back the rest with a soft curse and shake of her head. "Anyway. Zunaeth's - no, I'm not getting on him."
"I /am/ an old hand at it," retorts I'daur, sarcasm indeed lost. "S'not like it's hard." He sniffs, then makes a half-hearted effort to slide down in bed, not doing much more than slouching a little more. "Nothin' wrong with Zunaeth. Don't know /what/ y'r problem with /him/ is.""
"You're incredibly dense, too," Talien says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. I'daur sliding down into bed is met with her standing and walking away from the bed and bronzerider, "-wouldn't hurt you to keep water up here, you know. Healthier than that stuff you drink and it's handy to have around." Her dislike of Zunaeth is left unjustified.
"'S tasteless," says I'daur in his defense, not turning to look at Talien as she draws away. Instead, he tries to get the covers straightened out so he can actually get under them, though he's not having much luck--either the quilt's sliding off one way or his feet are all tangled up in the sheet. In the end, he curses, "Damn it!" in a huff and gives up, slumping back down again in the mess he's made of the bed."
"Let me." Talien huffs, and returns to the bed. The blankets are arranged to lay proper before she covers I'daur up clear to his chin. Her corners aren't exactly military standard, but 'snug' is an apt description of how ensconced I'daur is within the bed. "There, better?"
"If I wanted you t'do it, would've told you to," retorts I'daur grumpily. "'M drunk, not incop--incontin--damn it, just leave me alone," he finishes brilliantly.
"You're /very/ incompetent," Talien helpfully interjects, "But don't worry. I'll let you prove that yourself." Deed done, she moves back toward the desk to resume her snooping.
I'daur doesn't answer only gives Talien a look and rolls over, bunching the covers up in one hand. In a short time, he's snoring, but in no condition to stop Talien from sneaking around.
Talien does sneak too. Several times over. The weyr is searched from top to bottom, Talien occasionally shaking her head over something found. More dramatic are the repulsed squeaks and snorts as she finds something a little less desirable. At last, though, she makes her way toward the bed. Several long minutes are spent staring at the man; Talien no where near endeared enough with what she sees to temper the frown or angry glint of her eyes. When she tires of that, she at last moves around the end of the bed and to the side unoccupied. Kicking her own shoes off and peeling back a corner of the blanket, Talien steals in beside him. Before long, she's smiling. And waiting.
Once he's out, I'daur is well and truly out, snoring away and not moving once he's settled in. Not until long afterward, as morning starts to dawn, does he start stirring, blinking briefly and then cracking open his eyes and squinting. He doesn't really seem to notice someone else being in bed with him, more focused on his own slow and hungover wake-up.
Talien... well... that smug little smile disappears soon after she falls asleep herself. She's awake, though, by the time I'daur himself starts to wake. Still, she waits just a little longer before moving herself. A tiny, tired little grumpy noise is added to her toss - one that puts her facing I'daur and opening her eyes. Sight of the squinting, hungover weyrlingmaster brings a smile and a coy, "Morning."
"Morning," says I'daur roughly, eyes closing again for a moment. Then, with a groan, he starts to sit up, and tells her as he leans back against the headboard again, still looking not so hot, "Y'could of slept on the couch, y'know."
Talien's smile withers beneath a frown. "You don't remem... oh, right." Looking all kinds of dejected, Talien pushes her corner of the blanket away and rolls onto her side to stand. "Sorry. I should've just left."
"Don't remember what?" asks I'neph warily, eyeing Talien and arching a brow finally.
"You were drunk." Talien says, flatly, "Never mind. I should've known when you -- but I just... thought, maybe --" Stopping there, Talien gives a very, very firm shake of her head. "Forget it. I'm going now. Like I should've, before."
I'daur eyes Talien, unphased, or at least no more than being hungover phases him. "You tryin' to tell me we slept together or something?" he drawls finally, as he swings his legs out from under the covers with a wince. He rubs his left thigh and after several seconds starts to get up, keeping one hand against the wall while he straightens up stiffly, more focused on getting upright than on her answer.
"Shut-up, alright?" Talien replies snappishly, "I thought... when we were talking and... you seemed...I'm stupid. That's it. We did... we did /that/ and then you said you wanted to go get a drink with me but then you passed out. And I should've known, but I thought maybe you weren't so bad."
"Would you rather I tell the whole weyr," I'daur says slowly as he gets his leg to bear his weight enough that he can straighten on up, "that your resolve failed and you had sex with me, or that you just tried to lie about what you did with a drunk old man?"
"I- Yo-" There's an audible click of teeth, before Talien turns to face him, her face a brilliant shade of red. "You're horrible. You're so - I -" Faces are made in between each sputtering attempt. It all dies a cruel, horrible death. "I hate you. You're nothing but a - a big..." Surely that glare is more fitting than whatever retort she's not finding.
I'daur smirks at Talien, one hand lingering against the wall for his balance. "A big dick?" he suggests dryly. "Not that you'd know. Little advice--next time you want to try that one, try gettin' us both naked first. Y'ready for Zunaeth to take you down?"
"Oooh-" Talien draws that out like a petulant child - fitting, truly, as she stomps her foot while also glaring at him. "I hope you - I hope you go up there and you don't ever come back." Her chin jerks up - it's resolve, see - before she spins on her heel and heads straight for Zunaeth.
Zunaeth is looking amused himself, whuffling in draconic laughter as Talien stalks out to him. I'daur follows her out, picking up his riding straps as he goes. He puts them on the dragon wordless, then stands aside to let Talien mount and send the bronze off. "Have a good day, Talien."
Talien, thoroughly embarrassed already, grows moreso as she has to wait and wait and wait for those straps to get put on. There's lots of toe tapping, impatient huffing and a complete avoidance of even looking at I'daur /or/ Zunaeth, too. Though when all is said and done, and she's at last allowed to leave, Talien does so. Wordlessly because, you know, that'll teach him.
Sending Zunaeth off, the bronze gliding down to the bowl in characteristic wobbly fashion, I'daur lingers on the ledge, then retreats back inside to bed again, rubbing his head.