(Untitled)

[likedtheodds]

He wakes up in the middle of the forest with no shirt, a bird's nest close to his hair, a cat licking his face, the stench of eggs on his breath, and two roses lying over his chest. There's also a cup of alcohol sitting nearby, which makes the most sense of all the things he's surrounded by. Gwaine sits up and scratches first the back of his head

Comments

[patration]

Although learning a language is nothing if not exciting, there are days when Zhuge resolves to himself not to speak a word of English, to see how far he can get by on looks and gestures alone. If there's one remarkable thing about people that he's realized now on Tabula Rasa that he never had the opportunity to before, it's the fact that they'll find just about any means necessary to communicate. Language, while one of the greatest tools known to man, can be one of humanity's greatest weaknesses as well.

When a whistle catches his attention from the side, it's with a twinkle in his eye and silence on his lips that Zhuge steps closer. He nods in amusement.

It's been a while since he's seen a scene like this.

[likedtheodds]

Gwaine brightens at the sight of company. Perhaps it's the ill-reputed scoundrel in him, but he finds he tends to have a lot more fun when he has an audience. He bends down to pry off the slippers and then pulls away the roses. Those things gone, he almost looks respectable. Well, except for the shirtless aspect and the cat that's still following him.

"Top of the...evening?" he guesses. "Very early morning? Honestly, I'm not sure. I am never celebrating a good dinner like that again."

[patration]

If nothing else, Zhuge serves as a pretty good audience for any of those who like to perform. All people do to a certain extent. Interaction is nothing more than molding one's actions and tone to best suit the other person, and Zhuge's made enough of a living out of predicting a man's next move that he finds himself strangely fascinated by the man sprawled out on the ground. He wonders, briefly, if he should be offering his outermost robe to help cover the exposed skin.

"It is the evening," Zhuge confirms with a soft bark of a laugh. "Eat much, sleep much."

[likedtheodds]

"Drink much," Gwaine corrects the bloke with a big grin, coming closer to clap him on the shoulder. "Don't think we've met," he admits, though that could be a lie given that Gwaine isn't in full possession of memories from the night before. Who knows? He and this bloke could be best friends. "I'm Gwaine."

[patration]

"Ah," Zhuge nods knowingly with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. While he's not the type to indulge endlessly in drink, he's seen plenty of people do so over the years, to the point where sometimes (just sometimes) it ends up being endearing. If nothing else, it's an endless source of entertainment, just so long as it isn't taken so far as to place an unreasonable amount of burden on the body itself. When the other man claps Zhuge on the shoulder, he smiles, tolerant and amused all at once- it's not the type of contact anyone would have tried with him back home.

"Eat, sleep, drink, be... merry," Zhuge decides, having read a similar quote somewhere recently. "It is nice to meet you, Gwaine. My name is Liang."

[likedtheodds]

"I like that," Gwaine says brightly, tapping his nose when the bloke gets it right on the head. "Eat, sleep, drink, and be merry." Right there, right then, he has four of the things he loves most in the whole world and it's summed up in a poetic little turn of phrase. "Liang, I think I like you. Have we met before now? I can't remember much of last night."

There are the tangible hints, of course, and then there are things like the taste of eggs on his breath and the smell of sweat and flowers on his skin -- pieces of a story that he's yet to unlock.

[patration]

His smile widens even further, even as Zhuge leans away from the other man, smelling something rather pungent on the brunette's breath. It's as bad as some of the soldiers in the morning after eating fermented tofu- and at least in their cases, the smell is familiar enough so as to be excusable. Sometimes delicious food just has its drawbacks.

"No," he replies with a soft chuckle. "I don't know what happened for you too. Does your head hurt?" He taps his temple for emphasis, dipping down just a touch to search for telltale signs of a hangover.

[likedtheodds]

"Incredibly," Gwaine agrees with a fond smile on his face, tapping on his temple in time with the tune that's currently blaring in there, as though all the folk songs he's ever heard have amassed to give him a headache. "Do you have a cure, mate?"

[patration]

"Cure?" Zhuge asks, eyes widening slightly, his breath escaping his lips in a bit of a huff. He shakes his head, amused rather than offering any dissent, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest with a tilt of his head. "But this is not need cure. This-"

He taps his own temple.

"-is cure for drinking too much."

[likedtheodds]

Gwaine's whole face falls in what's sure to be a comedic manner when Liang tells him that the brain is the cure for drinking too much. It's not that he's stupid. It's definitely not that because he's smart enough to know when to get out of a place, but the problem is that he's not exactly smart enough to know when to stop being idle and drink -- often.

"Mate, are you telling me I should get philosophical and that'll help my hangover woes?" Gwaine asks dubiously.

[patration]

The sudden change in expression is almost comical, and Zhuge's eye twinkles in the wake of Gwaine's sudden and apparent disappointment. The corner of his lips quirking, he shakes his head, pretty sure that Gwaine hasn't quite gotten his point. Maybe his English still isn't clear enough (at least, Zhuge hopes that's the only problem, and not that somehow his ideas are beyond comprehension), so he clears his throat and looks Gwaine straight in the eye.

"No. I am say that the body knows that too much drink. When the body has too much drink, then..." Zhuge presses the heels of his hands to his temples, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment to mimic one's expression in the middle of a pounding hangover.