(Untitled)

[bloody_awful]

Another day, another hangover, another Hair of the Dog that bit him... and that was one hell of a nasty dog. Demonically possessed bulldog, red eyes, frothing, and let's not even begin to think about the toxic farting

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[broodingbacchus]

...yeah, Imri knows that feeling from the inside.

A sympathetic glance from the far-too-pretty D'Angeline boy as he quietly orders and sits on a nearby barstool.

Hey, it's cheaper than wine, all right? And fizzlier!

[bloody_awful]

Now this is more like it. John loves pretty boys, even if they're teetotalers.

He summons up a bit more energy and a bleary smile. "Morning, sunshine."

[broodingbacchus]

Imriel would facepalm, but it'd be impolite, and he's trying to be less of a prissy bastard lately.

"Good morning," he says instead, cordially and with reasonable cheer.

[bloody_awful]

"Good is a relative term. But I'm still above ground, so yeah, good'll do." He pauses. "Sorry, have we met? I'm a bit up on the slowtake this morning."

[broodingbacchus]

"No."

All right, that gets a slight smile.

"Imriel." Introductions are safe ground, right? "Imriel nó Montrève." He sips his soda.

[bloody_awful]

"John." Introductions are only sometimes safe ground. Names have power. "Pleasure to meet you... or rather it will be once I get me head back on."

John orders a cup of tea from the Bar. When it appears he pours what's left of the whiskey into it, and takes a deep drink. Then he lights another cigarette. Caffeine is good. Caffeine plus nicotine is brilliant.

[broodingbacchus]

Correction: introductions are safe ground for Imriel, in his experience. As long as he doesn't mention his family name before adoption. Talk of royalty always brings out his angstbucket tendencies.

"Likewise. And I wish you the best of luck. You look like I feel the morning after befriending a few too many winecups."

Surprise surprise, the teetotaler actually gets drunk fairly often! Just not now.

[bloody_awful]

John raises his cup of whiskey-laced tea and nods with a smile. "Cheers to you, then. But most of this came from a dog bite."

[broodingbacchus]

"You have a dog whose bites confer hangovers?"

This is Milliways. It's not totally out of the question.

[bloody_awful]

"Wasn't my dog. Possessed by a pestilence demon. Bit me." Then he grins. "More fool him. I may be a bit sick from it, but the dog died."

[broodingbacchus]

"Impressive," Imri notes.

And... slightly disturbing.

[bloody_awful]

Yes, yes it is. Impressive and disturbing both.... which is a pretty good description of John, in fact.

John smiles proudly. "Always." He nods at Imri's fizzy drink. "You interested in something with a bit more kick? My shout."

[broodingbacchus]

"If you'd like to stand me a drink, I won't say no."

Never one to turn down free alcohol, is Imri.

With a speculative eye to the uisghe-tea: "Surprise me."

The worst that can happen is that he doesn't like it... right?

Oh Imri, you poor naive fool.

[bloody_awful]

John doesn't make a habit of randomly poisoning pretty boys. And he heard "winecup" quite clearly.

"Bar, sweetheart, let's give the lad a glass of Margaux."

The glass appearing before Imri contains one of the finest Bordeaux in the world. John's world, anyway.

[broodingbacchus]

Imriel is D'Angeline.

He knows wine.

The mun does not.

His approach to the glass is tentative at first, but its contents quickly prove worthy, and he flashes John a grateful smile.

It's not Namarrese by any means, but it's still damn good wine. And even a D'Angeline will acquire a taste for the foreign after enough time spent in Milliways.

"My thanks," he says, perhaps a little wryly. Not like he has a clue how to repay it, after all.

[bloody_awful]

"My pleasure," says John, toasting him with his Guinness.

... which might be a suggestion toward repayment. Or might not. You never know.