Primeval fic: In Vino Veritas (Second Life verse)
Title: In Vino Veritas
Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval; feral Stephen was created by lena7142
A/N: I realized today that I hadn’t posted this last night like I normally do. Apologies! As always, beta given by lena7142. This is part of the Continued Adventures of Feral Stephen.
Summary: Stephen was socially inept most of the time, but Cutter had to admit, he was a good drinking partner.
-o-
Stephen was socially inept most of the time, but Cutter had to admit, he was a good drinking partner.
The man could handle his alcohol, even better than his clone. And he had a much broader taste for heavy liquor. Cutter was undecided if this was an inherent trait for Stephen or if being painfully sober for the better part of a decade had just made him more keen to indulge his wayward fancies.
So it wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to end up at the local pub after work, nursing a few beers or whatever else Stephen felt inclined to try. Cutter enjoyed getting just a bit tipsy -- he worked with rifts in time and prehistoric predators, so he reckoned he was entitled -- but Stephen never drank enough to impair himself and always walked out as straight as he walked in.
Cutter thought that was something of a pity, but then, Stephen had always been the one to help keep him accountable, and this incarnation was just as capable as his alternate.
Still, some days, Cutter was just incorrigible.
“You’re drunk,” Stephen announced as they walked back toward Stephen’s place. It was on the way to Cutter’s place, and the idea of Stephen stalking the streets alone at night was still somewhat worrisome to him. Not for Stephen, of course. But for the rest of humanity.
Cutter snorted angrily. “I am not.”
Stephen regarded him coolly. “You are.”
“I am only mildly inebriated,” Cutter allowed, holding up his finger as they walked along.
Stephen was not impressed “Your reactions are noticeably slower,” he said. “Two seconds can make the difference between life and death.”
Cutter rolled his eyes. “Well, if a crazy sabre tooth cat comes springing out of the next alleyway, I guess that’s why I keep you around, yeah?”
Stephen frowned. “But I’m not even armed,” he said. “The self protection laws here are irresponsible--”
Cutter sighed. “You could try to be normal.”
Stephen actually looked hurt. “I am trying,” he said. “Isn’t it normal to worry about your friends?”
Cutter pulled up short, dragging Stephen to a stop. “Friends?”
Stephen blinked at him, realizing his slip up. He paled, jaw working. “I just meant--”
Cutter gripped his arm, holding his gaze. “You just meant I was your friend.”
Stephen looked visibly uncomfortable, body tense as he seemed ready to pull away, to bolt. But he kept himself painfully still. “There’s not really a better description--”
Cutter shook him emphatically. “You think we’re friends!”
Now Stephen looked annoyed. “I’m starting to reconsider--”
Ignoring him, Cutter whooped with laughter, shoving Stephen away playfully. “No, no,” he said. “I have it here, in your own words. We’re friends.”
Stephen straightened, brushing himself off and eyeing Cutter disdainfully. “You know I’m starting to hope a sabre tooth cat does come out of the next alleyway.”
“So you can save my life, no doubt,” Cutter said.
Stephen shook his head. “I’d let it eat you,” he said. “And laugh while you screamed in agony.”
“You’d miss me,” Cutter told him earnestly.
“Bugger,” Stephen muttered, starting back down the street.
“Where are you going?” Cutter called after him.
“Back to the pub!” Stephen called back. “Suddenly I feel like sobriety might be overrated after all!”
Disclaimer: I do not own Primeval; feral Stephen was created by lena7142
A/N: I realized today that I hadn’t posted this last night like I normally do. Apologies! As always, beta given by lena7142. This is part of the Continued Adventures of Feral Stephen.
Summary: Stephen was socially inept most of the time, but Cutter had to admit, he was a good drinking partner.
-o-
Stephen was socially inept most of the time, but Cutter had to admit, he was a good drinking partner.
The man could handle his alcohol, even better than his clone. And he had a much broader taste for heavy liquor. Cutter was undecided if this was an inherent trait for Stephen or if being painfully sober for the better part of a decade had just made him more keen to indulge his wayward fancies.
So it wasn’t uncommon for the two of them to end up at the local pub after work, nursing a few beers or whatever else Stephen felt inclined to try. Cutter enjoyed getting just a bit tipsy -- he worked with rifts in time and prehistoric predators, so he reckoned he was entitled -- but Stephen never drank enough to impair himself and always walked out as straight as he walked in.
Cutter thought that was something of a pity, but then, Stephen had always been the one to help keep him accountable, and this incarnation was just as capable as his alternate.
Still, some days, Cutter was just incorrigible.
“You’re drunk,” Stephen announced as they walked back toward Stephen’s place. It was on the way to Cutter’s place, and the idea of Stephen stalking the streets alone at night was still somewhat worrisome to him. Not for Stephen, of course. But for the rest of humanity.
Cutter snorted angrily. “I am not.”
Stephen regarded him coolly. “You are.”
“I am only mildly inebriated,” Cutter allowed, holding up his finger as they walked along.
Stephen was not impressed “Your reactions are noticeably slower,” he said. “Two seconds can make the difference between life and death.”
Cutter rolled his eyes. “Well, if a crazy sabre tooth cat comes springing out of the next alleyway, I guess that’s why I keep you around, yeah?”
Stephen frowned. “But I’m not even armed,” he said. “The self protection laws here are irresponsible--”
Cutter sighed. “You could try to be normal.”
Stephen actually looked hurt. “I am trying,” he said. “Isn’t it normal to worry about your friends?”
Cutter pulled up short, dragging Stephen to a stop. “Friends?”
Stephen blinked at him, realizing his slip up. He paled, jaw working. “I just meant--”
Cutter gripped his arm, holding his gaze. “You just meant I was your friend.”
Stephen looked visibly uncomfortable, body tense as he seemed ready to pull away, to bolt. But he kept himself painfully still. “There’s not really a better description--”
Cutter shook him emphatically. “You think we’re friends!”
Now Stephen looked annoyed. “I’m starting to reconsider--”
Ignoring him, Cutter whooped with laughter, shoving Stephen away playfully. “No, no,” he said. “I have it here, in your own words. We’re friends.”
Stephen straightened, brushing himself off and eyeing Cutter disdainfully. “You know I’m starting to hope a sabre tooth cat does come out of the next alleyway.”
“So you can save my life, no doubt,” Cutter said.
Stephen shook his head. “I’d let it eat you,” he said. “And laugh while you screamed in agony.”
“You’d miss me,” Cutter told him earnestly.
“Bugger,” Stephen muttered, starting back down the street.
“Where are you going?” Cutter called after him.
“Back to the pub!” Stephen called back. “Suddenly I feel like sobriety might be overrated after all!”