lostcarnival | no bourbon, no scotch, no beer

Entry tags:

no bourbon, no scotch, no beer

Who: the idiot brigade aka Lambert & Strange
Where: Strange's trailer
When: backdated to late on Day 77
What: errybody in the trailer got tipsy
Warnings: alcohol use

( continued from here )

[ Taking the White Gull, Strange carefully puts two small drops of the alcohol into his mug of wine. His hands are steady, like he's used to doling out entirely small doses of liquids. Really, he doesn't believe this is as potent as Lambert says it is. After all, the other man can drink it and he...well, he's Lambert so who knows what sort of witcher nonsense makes you resistant to weird alcohols. Still, he can always add more later if need be.

As he finishes adding in the White Gull, Strange caps the flask and sets it on a nearby, hella cluttered table. Moments later, he raises his mug as well. ]

To your new appointment.

[ Might as well make an ATTEMPT at a toast. Strange downs a healthy serving of his wine...then just starts coughing a bit because wow, even with just two drops that stuff is surprisingly potent. ]

Good Lord.

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Compared to here? Maybe. [ Lambert shrugs. He takes this next cup a little more slowly than the last, if only to give Strange a chance to catch up. ]

Does it really count if you've never known anything else?

[ Now it's Strange's turn to shrug. ]

I don't know. Since I became a magician, I always hoped I'd see at least one different realm, but even in London I knew I was the exception. Most people probably wouldn't think about the possibility of seeing anything else to begin with.

[ He takes a bit of a larger drink than before and can't help but wince a little. Wow, that Gull has a kick. ]

That's what I mean. [ Lambert shrugs. ] I mean, most people knew it was shit, but they dealt with it because they didn't have a choice. If you were where I was from, you ...

[ He tries to take a moment to actually picture that, without involving statements like 'probably wouldn't live past the age of eight.' ]

... would've been taught how to deal with it. Probably. [ It's not like has any conception of how nobles' kids are raised, but they've got to learn how to be smarmy gits with their heads up their own ass from somewhere. ]

You've more faith in my parents than they deserve, [ Strange can't help but tease, trying to hide the fact that ha ha! His childhood was also hilariously shitty! If you joke about how awful a person your father was, then obviously that means the fact that your father was an awful person doesn't affect you still, right? Right. ]

Or at least, more faith in half of my parents. If she had to teach me about murderous monsters, I'm sure my mother would have tried her best before she passed.

[ no comment on the dad. Dads suck. ]

Let me guess: dad was a shithead.

[ Yeah, no, Lambert's not going to beat around the bush or spare Strange's tender feelings there. Who resents dads, boy does Lambert resent dads, and any authority figures that can be reasonably construed as fathers. As he's proving now by taking a big, resentful gulp of his drink, the burn of alcohol down his threat all too appropriate for the bitterness in his voice. ]

Guess thats one more thing we have in common. [ Other things being, an inability to take shit too seriously for too long.]

My father was a complete shithead. [ That sarcastic smile plays on his face because man does it feel nice to bitch about his dad. Strange also takes a large drink because if they're going to bitch about family, he wants to be properly drunk so that he can forget the awful mood he'll inevitably put himself in by bitching about family in the first place.

Of course, he's already starting to feel a smidge woozy. This stuff is potent. ]

Magic, nightrunning, and now horrible fathers. We're more alike than either of use realized.

[ He is 100% teasing at that because yes, they are alike in some regards but they're massively different in other, more noticeable ones. ]

All I need now is to grow out my hair and no one'll ever be able to tell the difference.

[ Drink is the answer to a lot of things. Lambert smirks, tail curling around to rest in his lap. The results of attempting to punch either one of them are pretty stark, it's true, but it's not like Lambert needs a copy of himself to get along (and it would, honestly, probably, hate that). One thing he can say is that things are rarely ever boring around Strange, and that's a good enough reason to hang around him. ]

So, what'd he do? [ If they're going to get into it, Lambert wants the gory details. Don't spare him out of propriety, Strange. ]

What didn't he do? He was routinely cruel to the servants, myself, and my mother. One of his last acts was to keep one of the servants with him in a freezing room, trying to give the man a deathly chill for seemingly no reason. He prevented me from taking up any useful occupation out of simple spite—which, preventing me from taking up any occupation meant that I couldn't marry Arabella until the man finally died, thank God for that.

[ Don't mind Strange as he just chugs some of his drink, obviously incensed at the thought of his father. It doesn't matter to him that this is insanely alcoholic, he just wants to get drunk as fast as possible now. ]

What about yours?

[ For another person, that might be heavy, personal shit that explains a lot about Strange and his issues. To Lambert, it mostly sounds like affirmation of his belief in the lack of decent fathers anywhere, no matter your station in life, so while he doesn't drink as deeply as Strange, he lifts his cup lazily in salute and takes a gulp before speaking in turn. ]

Beat me and my mother every time he was drunk, which was any day he had coin in his pocket to spare, and every time he was pissed about not being drunk. Surprised he could even get it up long enough to put me in good old mum, which just proves not all miracles are good ones. And then instead of having the decency to die after stumbling into a nest of nekkers, he was saved by a witcher instead. And so-- [ He spreads his hands. ] --here I am.

[ Dads are the worst. Obviously this is something that Strange feels strongly about as he winces when Lambert describes his father. Ah. Saying that Lambert's childhood sounded terrible was an understatement. ]

I know good fathers exist. After all, I'd hope that I'd eventually become one when I return home. [ lol nope canon dicks you over. ] But it does seem that they're few and far between.

[ Strange's childhood also sounds terrible to Lambert, although to be fair, at least Strange's terrible childhood also clearly involved not starving. ]

Funny how that works, isn't it? [ Lambert snorts. ] Maybe it's because the good ones die doing shit they're supposed to do, like look out for their family.

[ "Dad won't let me get a job so I have to waste my time away being a useless gentleman alcoholic" is a whole different set of problems than "we are literally going to starve." ]

That's honestly quite depressing. You're either a terrible father or you die young? I'd hope there are more options.

There's always 'never be a dad,' not that I have a choice about that.

[ Not that Lambert sounds too broken up about it, because he's pretty clear about his limitations. Being a dad is for guys like Geralt, who care and shit like that. ]

You don't? I thought only mages in your world were infertile, not witchers.

[ When one of the first conversations you have with someone dovetails into "hey quick question but do all your bits work properly", that's certainly something you remember whether you want to or not. ]

[ Lambert shakes his head. He's not particularly bothered by discussing his own bodily functions, it seems, and he launches right into it. ]

Nah. It's the same idea, though I don't know if the mages planned it that way or not. Having that much magic forced through your body to change it apparently burns out any chance of knocking someone up. Probably for the best, though. [ He smirks. ] Otherwise I can think of some witchers who'd have bastards sired from Velen to Skellige.

[ Strange can't help but roll his eyes at that as he gives Lambert a small little smirk of a smile. Because yeah, he was in the army, he knows how some men will gladly take advantage of any town or encampment that's got a healthy number of women. ]

So are your mages also changed by magic like you are? [ said as he points directly at Lambert's eyes. ]

Not like me, they're not. Too vain. [ Lambert snickers at the very concept. ]

We got some things in common, like not getting old as quickly. But most mages use magic to stop aging completely. Sorceresses tend to keep their youth, while sorcerors try to look as wise and wordly as they can. Probably think it gives them more credibility.

Let me guess, wise and worldly usually means long hair and a beard? They'd get laughed to high heaven if any sorcerer tried to do something like that in my world.

[ Looking wise and worldly might help for Lambert's world, but something something respectability politics. ]

I suppose it's a good thing then that mages and witchers don't normally have families. It'd be hard enough explaining to one's parents why you aren't aging at the rate you should, imagine having to explain it to your wife and children.

[ and oh look, he's thinking about Arabella again, don't mind Strange as he just chugs the rest of his glass to try and get himself thinking about less depressing things. ]

You're thinking of druids. [ Lambert laughs at that, claws tapping at the side of his mug. ] They mostly just go for wrinkles and greying hair. But it's mostly sorceresses now, as far as I know.

[ Though it's also a bad time for magic users, with Radovid going crazy and all that. At the mention of families, Lambert's lip curls again, though it's more of a sneer than genuine amusement as he follows suit and chugs down the rest of his drink as well. Can't have Strange outdrinking him now, can he? ]

Nothing really to explain. Enough stories out there that people know what they're signing up for.

Welcome to being a witcher, hope you manage to live to a slightly old age before you're terribly mauled by some sort of nasty griffin or something like that.

[ Strange gives Lambert a small little sarcastic smile as he pours himself a bit more wine. The effects of the White Gull are already starting to hit him, as his movements are a bit more careless than usual--Strange almost sloshes some of the wine on the floor but catches himself in time. Once he's poured the wine, he gestures for Lambert to hand the flask over. ]

Tell me one of your stories. I've heard plenty about your world but not so much about you. What sort of monsters have you faced?

[ He's not even bothering to hide the curiosity in his voice. He likes his world. He likes Arabella and some of the people back in England. But Strange has to admit that he sees the appeal of Lambert's lifestyle. Wandering the world, getting back to nature, he can see the appeal. It's a tad romantic, minus the blood and guts and stabbing, of course. ]

[ The question catches Lambert a bit by surprise -- perhaps because of its directness. While he's certainly revealed information about himself through casually mentioning the other witchers, or answering more general inquiries about his world, it's not often he tends to hear anything along the lines of tell me about yourself.

He mulls over the question, pouring a generous measure of White Gull for himself before he swaps it for the wine bottle to top up his mug. Most of his contracts aren't really the stuff of stories -- just a lot of slogging around in the dirt and muck, cold and hungry, meditating until midnight for the damn ghost to show up. ]

I've got a few I could tell. [ He says, finally, with a slight smirk. ] But I'm warning you, they're not exactly the stuff of fairy tales. Take your pick: do you want to hear about a wraith, a griffin, or a siren?

[ Moderation is for suckers as Strange pours himself a fair amount of White Gull in his mug. It's pretty obvious to Lambert that if Strange actually drinks all of this, he's going to end up vomiting in the bushes fairly quick, no matter how hard he bullshits about whatever nonsense he's drunken back home. Strange, for his part, is entirely unaware of just how drunk he's going to end up.

He muses over the choices for a moment before settling on, ] Griffin. After all, that's the one I know the most about, there's less for you to explain with that one.

[ Wraiths or sirens could be anything. But thanks to their goofing around and making sand monsters at the Celebration, Strange at least has a vague idea of what Lambert's griffins look like. Strange takes a large sip of his drink, satisfied by his decision. ]

Ah, one of my favorite ones. Good choice.

[ Oh yeah, Strange is not going to have a good time tomorrow. However, Lambert's not going to stop him, because 1. he thinks that shit will be hilarious, 2. that'll teach the poor bastard to treat witcher alcohol like it's water. He takes a drink, clearly warming to the subject matter and relishing the setup. ]

Witchers pride themselves on being neutral -- we don't owe loyalty to any kingdom, keep our noses out of politics, and won't bend the knee to any old blueblood with a parcel of land bigger than the spread of his palm. As you can imagine, that doesn't make us all that popular among the nobility. Luckily, we don't have to deal with each other much: like I said, most of their monster problems are things that they can handle because they've got armies. But sometimes, even they'll have problems steel alone can't solve... which is when they'll start looking for a witcher.

[ Sorry, Strange, you're getting a ton of exposition anyway. But with that introduction out of the way, Lambert continues: ]

The summer of my tenth year after becoming a full-fledged witcher, I saw a contract on a noticeboard while I was in the East March. It was short and to the point: the local baron was looking for someone to kill a male griffin. What caught my attention was the reward. Five hundred crowns -- that's nothing to sneeze at. So I figured what the hell, I probably won't be the only person looking for this thing, not with that much money on offer. Might as well go and see why they were offering so much for one fleabitten monster.

[ He can't help but wonder what Lambert, who prides himself on being neutral and down-to-earth, thinks of Strange, who's made no secret of the fact that he used to regularly deal with politics and the nobility. It's a good thing they're friends now because Strange is realizing just how south things could have gone if he'd taken a different approach when they first met.

He listens, taking occasional sips of his drink but for once in his life, actually being quiet. This is already an interesting story and he doesn't want to ruin it with too much needless commentary...but just a smidge of needless commentary won't hurt. ]

I've a feeling the beast wasn't entirely what you were expecting?

[ After all, with that much money, something had to be up. ]

Oh, the beast was real enough. What they wanted it for, on the other hand...

[ Lambert trails off, letting the whole thing build suspense, and finally explains: ]

The baron and his wife had been trying to conceive. I say trying, because even after a few years, his wife had yet to pop out a baby and the baron wasn't exactly in the bloom of youth. I'm sure I don't need to tell you an heir a pretty damn big deal to anyone that has something worth inheriting.

You might be wondering what a griffin has to do with any of this, much less a dead one. Well, as it turns out? Someone had gotten the notion in the baron's head that the way to get his wife pregnant was to fuck her on a griffin's back.

Edited (CONSISTENCY IN MY OWN STORY PLS) 2017-04-28 22:50 (UTC)

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