[Log] N'thei's Doing
Who: R'uen, Tiriana
When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 17
Where: Tiriana's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: This is not how R'uen planned to spend his night.
Notes: There is no good way to describe throwing up. -.-
In the evening, after N'thei has left, Tiriana has not moved from the couch. She's curled up there now, on her side with her knees pulled up to her stomach and one arm curled under her head, face turned in against it. The bottle's still there, with what little's still in it untouched; the smell of liquor's all over and around her.
R'uen is taking off his flight jacket before he notes the smell, and then he turns to eye the couch, the table and the bottle. "Hey," quiet as he heads over to look down at Tiriana all curled up. He drops to a knee in front of her, "Bad day?"
Tiriana doesn't look up when R'uen comes over; she does twist away, burying her head further in the couch arm. It muffles her voice, though most of her response is just a groan as she burrows in. The most distinct thing? "Gon' puke."
R'uen's brow go up. "Ok, don't move." He'll move, to fetch the chamber pot. "Alright, if you didn't really need to throw up a minute ago, you might need to if you put your face in here." Not that he has any idea what may or may not be under the lid. And he doesn't really want to know. He leaves it closed, sets it down and reaches for her shoulders. "Can you sit up?"
With another miserable groan, Tiriana heralds the pot's arrival, as though just thinking about it makes her feel worse. A shake of her head is a definite no to the latter question. "Don't wanna." Childishly, she twists her shoulders just a little, a half-hearted attempt at avoiding him that soons gives up as she rolls over and finally blinks blearily up at him: greenish, with her eyes red and face all splotched and puffy from the crying.
Finally seeing her face, R'uen frowns more sharply. It's never good when pretty girls go splotched and puffy. But he eases her up, steadying her by the shoulders until it seems like she might stay upright when he lets go. Then he picks up the pot to put it in her lap. "Just don't take off the lid yet. Let me get a.... rag... first." This is now how he'd expected to spend his evening.
She stays, more or less, though she slouches down and leans until she's tucked into the couch's corner again, propped up by that. "'M not," Tiriana answers, with another little shake of her head that has her clutching the pot more tightly. She squinches her eyes shut, too, as though that helps any. "'M fine." Except she's totally not.
"You just said you were going to throw up," R'uen reminds her from wherever he is behind the couch. There's a little sound of water and then his boots carrying him toward her again. He drops the damp rag from behind her, letting it sit on the cushion at her side. "Ok." Leave for her to start her puking. He busies himself with trying to gather her hair away from her face.
Tiriana doesn't just yet, at least, though she keeps her hands firmly on said chamberpot just in case. Glancing down at it, she raises her head just enough to let him get her hair loose before flopping back, listless. "You have to go fuck N'thei up," she informs him then, with a small turn of her head to try to look at him. "Beat the--beat the shit out 'im."
"Yeah?" R'uen can't help but let out an empty laugh at that. "So you want to see me get killed? Take the lid off. Get it over with. You'll feel better." But he does corral a few tendrils of her hair from her cheek with a gentle finger. "What did he do?"
"Don't wanna," insists Tiriana, still stubborn even as sick as she might feel. "Go, go kill 'im in his sleep. Don't care how. This," the latter is answer to his question, a miserable little self-pitying answer. "Did this."
"We'll deal with N'thei later," R'uen placates, bending a little so that his words can sooth closer to her ear. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Still holding her hair, he frees a hand to slip behind her shoulders and try to get her more upright again, more positioned to use the pot.
Tiriana lifts her shoulders faintly. "I never," she says. "Played I ne--" The end of her explanation is lost, though, as the moving about finally sets her off; she can barely get the pot open fast enough to throw up in it, and not get it all over the couch, herself, or R'uen. There is, fortunately or not, not a lot of solids, no dinner or anything, to go with the liquor, though even after she's got up what she can she dry-heaves a couple more times, shuddering.
Needless to say, R'uen holds her hair back while she vomits, his head turned away so that he doesn't have to see any more of it than necessary, and when it seems like she's gotten most everything up, he reaches for the rag and wipes its cool dampness across her face. He'll patiently wait to find out what happened. "You okay?"
Tiriana, pushing the pot away when she's finally finished, swallows with a grimace and shudders again. The cool cloth has her relaxing just a little bit, enough to lean back into him again and close her eyes. Rough-voiced, and still miserable-looking if not quite so green, "We played I never. To get to know each other."
He does laugh. Just a little. Just a short breath of a chuckle from his nose. "I see," R'uen answers her. Vomitting apparently through, he lets her hair go and slips a hand from behind her, easing her against the couch so he can come around and take the chamber pot a bit further away. "I'm guessing he won? Did you get to know him?" Hardly the outrage she wants.
"Tie. It was a /tie/," Tiriana stresses that word. "He was shit-faced, too." Left to lean into the couch again on her own, though, she protests, fighting her way back upright to watch him anxiously. "He lies. He said... said..." She struggles to remember. "Said he never paid for sex. 'N' got all he wanted."
R'uen takes a seat beside her and pulls her against him so that she doesn't have to bother with holding herself up any longer. The rag brushes over her face again. "Well, as long you don't know first hand, I can't say I care much what he does. It was a tie?" Dubious. "So why were you crying?"
"Wanted me to go fuck a girl, too." Somehow, she's still just a touch hopeful, underneath all the redness and tiredness, that that will get a rise out of him. She collapses over sideways onto him, though, sprawling clumsily out with her head against his shoulder. "Tie," once more with feeling. And, "'Cause he's a /bastard/." Which threatens to start her up sniffling again, which leads to, "I have to--" and a desperate look around for where that pot got to.
"Well you might yet someday," R'uen says with a small shake of his head. No rise on that point either. What will get a rise is her search for the pot; that has his pushing her up so he can collect and provide it for her, hurried. "Maybe you should hold onto this for a while."
Tiriana takes the pot back with a miserable little sound, but after a few seconds of being very still and swallowing with effort, she apparently manages to bite down on the urge again. "At least he said it was a shame," she sniffs then, which is apparently better than R'uen's calm acceptance.
There's really very little point in arguing with someone who is too drunk to sit up, so R'uen continues to leave her bait lying where it is, not that he has a tendency to do much else even when she isn't drunk. "Do you think it's a shame? Is there some pretty girl here at Reaches who's caught your eye?"
Tiriana lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted gesture, and she reaches to set the pot down beside the couch (and the mostly empty bottle) in unsteady fashion. Then she can slide back down and sprawl out on the whole couch safely. "No," she tells him. "Don't know many, anyway, 'n' they're all--." Another tired shrug.
R'uen watches her resettle on the couch and sprawl across so much of it. "Well what does it matter what N'thei thinks about it then?" He stands there for an awkward moment, not entirely sure what to do with himself, and then he takes up the bottle and moves to lift her legs so he can take a seat with them across his lap, rub idly across her ankle. And he takes a drink. "You should have stopped playing," he says with a heavy exhale, more like he's telling an imaginary Tiriana than actually attempting to have a conversation with the one semi-conscious beside him
"Matters," she insists, but without much fire to it. Tiriana turns to lean her face against the back of the couch again. It muffles her voice when she tries to explain, "Matters 'cause-'cause. It just does. Shut up." Her comebacks haven't improved for the drunkenness, and she doesn't muster anything but a "mmph" for his latter remark, if she even hears.
"Because you want him to think you're tough. Strong." But even as R'uen says the words, he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, scanning upward thoughtfully. He brings the bottle to his lips again. "Nevermind, Ti. You should go to sleep."
Well on her way already, Tiriana doesn't answer this time either, but does draw her knees up into her protective little ball again; shortly she's finally drifting off to sleep, or passing out, or something. In any case, she's out for the night.
When: Day 18, Month 7, Turn 17
Where: Tiriana's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: This is not how R'uen planned to spend his night.
Notes: There is no good way to describe throwing up. -.-
In the evening, after N'thei has left, Tiriana has not moved from the couch. She's curled up there now, on her side with her knees pulled up to her stomach and one arm curled under her head, face turned in against it. The bottle's still there, with what little's still in it untouched; the smell of liquor's all over and around her.
R'uen is taking off his flight jacket before he notes the smell, and then he turns to eye the couch, the table and the bottle. "Hey," quiet as he heads over to look down at Tiriana all curled up. He drops to a knee in front of her, "Bad day?"
Tiriana doesn't look up when R'uen comes over; she does twist away, burying her head further in the couch arm. It muffles her voice, though most of her response is just a groan as she burrows in. The most distinct thing? "Gon' puke."
R'uen's brow go up. "Ok, don't move." He'll move, to fetch the chamber pot. "Alright, if you didn't really need to throw up a minute ago, you might need to if you put your face in here." Not that he has any idea what may or may not be under the lid. And he doesn't really want to know. He leaves it closed, sets it down and reaches for her shoulders. "Can you sit up?"
With another miserable groan, Tiriana heralds the pot's arrival, as though just thinking about it makes her feel worse. A shake of her head is a definite no to the latter question. "Don't wanna." Childishly, she twists her shoulders just a little, a half-hearted attempt at avoiding him that soons gives up as she rolls over and finally blinks blearily up at him: greenish, with her eyes red and face all splotched and puffy from the crying.
Finally seeing her face, R'uen frowns more sharply. It's never good when pretty girls go splotched and puffy. But he eases her up, steadying her by the shoulders until it seems like she might stay upright when he lets go. Then he picks up the pot to put it in her lap. "Just don't take off the lid yet. Let me get a.... rag... first." This is now how he'd expected to spend his evening.
She stays, more or less, though she slouches down and leans until she's tucked into the couch's corner again, propped up by that. "'M not," Tiriana answers, with another little shake of her head that has her clutching the pot more tightly. She squinches her eyes shut, too, as though that helps any. "'M fine." Except she's totally not.
"You just said you were going to throw up," R'uen reminds her from wherever he is behind the couch. There's a little sound of water and then his boots carrying him toward her again. He drops the damp rag from behind her, letting it sit on the cushion at her side. "Ok." Leave for her to start her puking. He busies himself with trying to gather her hair away from her face.
Tiriana doesn't just yet, at least, though she keeps her hands firmly on said chamberpot just in case. Glancing down at it, she raises her head just enough to let him get her hair loose before flopping back, listless. "You have to go fuck N'thei up," she informs him then, with a small turn of her head to try to look at him. "Beat the--beat the shit out 'im."
"Yeah?" R'uen can't help but let out an empty laugh at that. "So you want to see me get killed? Take the lid off. Get it over with. You'll feel better." But he does corral a few tendrils of her hair from her cheek with a gentle finger. "What did he do?"
"Don't wanna," insists Tiriana, still stubborn even as sick as she might feel. "Go, go kill 'im in his sleep. Don't care how. This," the latter is answer to his question, a miserable little self-pitying answer. "Did this."
"We'll deal with N'thei later," R'uen placates, bending a little so that his words can sooth closer to her ear. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?" Still holding her hair, he frees a hand to slip behind her shoulders and try to get her more upright again, more positioned to use the pot.
Tiriana lifts her shoulders faintly. "I never," she says. "Played I ne--" The end of her explanation is lost, though, as the moving about finally sets her off; she can barely get the pot open fast enough to throw up in it, and not get it all over the couch, herself, or R'uen. There is, fortunately or not, not a lot of solids, no dinner or anything, to go with the liquor, though even after she's got up what she can she dry-heaves a couple more times, shuddering.
Needless to say, R'uen holds her hair back while she vomits, his head turned away so that he doesn't have to see any more of it than necessary, and when it seems like she's gotten most everything up, he reaches for the rag and wipes its cool dampness across her face. He'll patiently wait to find out what happened. "You okay?"
Tiriana, pushing the pot away when she's finally finished, swallows with a grimace and shudders again. The cool cloth has her relaxing just a little bit, enough to lean back into him again and close her eyes. Rough-voiced, and still miserable-looking if not quite so green, "We played I never. To get to know each other."
He does laugh. Just a little. Just a short breath of a chuckle from his nose. "I see," R'uen answers her. Vomitting apparently through, he lets her hair go and slips a hand from behind her, easing her against the couch so he can come around and take the chamber pot a bit further away. "I'm guessing he won? Did you get to know him?" Hardly the outrage she wants.
"Tie. It was a /tie/," Tiriana stresses that word. "He was shit-faced, too." Left to lean into the couch again on her own, though, she protests, fighting her way back upright to watch him anxiously. "He lies. He said... said..." She struggles to remember. "Said he never paid for sex. 'N' got all he wanted."
R'uen takes a seat beside her and pulls her against him so that she doesn't have to bother with holding herself up any longer. The rag brushes over her face again. "Well, as long you don't know first hand, I can't say I care much what he does. It was a tie?" Dubious. "So why were you crying?"
"Wanted me to go fuck a girl, too." Somehow, she's still just a touch hopeful, underneath all the redness and tiredness, that that will get a rise out of him. She collapses over sideways onto him, though, sprawling clumsily out with her head against his shoulder. "Tie," once more with feeling. And, "'Cause he's a /bastard/." Which threatens to start her up sniffling again, which leads to, "I have to--" and a desperate look around for where that pot got to.
"Well you might yet someday," R'uen says with a small shake of his head. No rise on that point either. What will get a rise is her search for the pot; that has his pushing her up so he can collect and provide it for her, hurried. "Maybe you should hold onto this for a while."
Tiriana takes the pot back with a miserable little sound, but after a few seconds of being very still and swallowing with effort, she apparently manages to bite down on the urge again. "At least he said it was a shame," she sniffs then, which is apparently better than R'uen's calm acceptance.
There's really very little point in arguing with someone who is too drunk to sit up, so R'uen continues to leave her bait lying where it is, not that he has a tendency to do much else even when she isn't drunk. "Do you think it's a shame? Is there some pretty girl here at Reaches who's caught your eye?"
Tiriana lifts her shoulders in a half-hearted gesture, and she reaches to set the pot down beside the couch (and the mostly empty bottle) in unsteady fashion. Then she can slide back down and sprawl out on the whole couch safely. "No," she tells him. "Don't know many, anyway, 'n' they're all--." Another tired shrug.
R'uen watches her resettle on the couch and sprawl across so much of it. "Well what does it matter what N'thei thinks about it then?" He stands there for an awkward moment, not entirely sure what to do with himself, and then he takes up the bottle and moves to lift her legs so he can take a seat with them across his lap, rub idly across her ankle. And he takes a drink. "You should have stopped playing," he says with a heavy exhale, more like he's telling an imaginary Tiriana than actually attempting to have a conversation with the one semi-conscious beside him
"Matters," she insists, but without much fire to it. Tiriana turns to lean her face against the back of the couch again. It muffles her voice when she tries to explain, "Matters 'cause-'cause. It just does. Shut up." Her comebacks haven't improved for the drunkenness, and she doesn't muster anything but a "mmph" for his latter remark, if she even hears.
"Because you want him to think you're tough. Strong." But even as R'uen says the words, he rolls his eyes to the ceiling, scanning upward thoughtfully. He brings the bottle to his lips again. "Nevermind, Ti. You should go to sleep."
Well on her way already, Tiriana doesn't answer this time either, but does draw her knees up into her protective little ball again; shortly she's finally drifting off to sleep, or passing out, or something. In any case, she's out for the night.