no bourbon, no scotch, no beer

[kingsroads]

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.

Comments

[whattaprick]

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.

[kingsroads]

[ 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. ]

[whattaprick]

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.

oh my god that's beautiful

[kingsroads]

[ Strange is a good audience, giving Lambert a 'go on' sort of look as he builds up suspense and listening intently when Lambert starts describing the seemingly unrelated story of the baron and his wife that Strange is fairly certain will somehow turn out to be related to this whole nonsense. He takes a sip of his drink, listening expectantly.

And then when Lambert mentions what he wanted the griffin for, Strange almost instantly chokes on his drink.
Fun fact! Choking on White Gull is not fun, and Strange just launches into an awkward slightly laughing slightly choking entirely undignified coughing fit for a moment or two before he regains his composure. When he starts talking again, Strange's tone pretty muck implies he finds the whole thing hilarious. ]

Surely that'd be uncomfortable. Even with just the feathers getting into certain places... [ Strange trails off as he gives Lambert a big, shithead grin of his own. ] Well go on. Did you catch the beast for them?

[ and then did they fuck on it??? Important questions here! ]

[whattaprick]

I think the idea was to stuff the body, smooth out some of the lumps, and turn it into a bed. Much less of a risk slipping off and breaking your neck that way. [ Lambert sniggers into his mug when Strange chokes (he might have timed that on purpose, or things simply worked out that way) and lets him regain his composure before he continues. ]

But no. I didn't become a witcher to furnish some noble's bedroom, and I told them as much. Laughed in their faces and told them they could shove their gold where the sun doesn't shine. Might have said some other things, too. [ He grins wryly. ] And for that, they threw me in the dungeon.

Now, I could have gotten out easily enough -- with the right spell on the right guard at the right time, I could get the keys and walk out whistling. But I knew something fishy was going on because when I walked into that baron's hall, I felt my medallion tug. [ He hooks a finger into the chain, mining drawing it out. ] And that only means one thing: magic.

Turns out people are willing to talk to you about all kinds of things when they think they've got power over you. What really surprised me was that it wasn't just one person who came to see me that night, but two...

[kingsroads]

[ Dungeons were probably the day to day sort of business that witchers had to deal with...but Strange still can't help but wrinkle his nose slightly at the thought of being stuck in a dungeon. You can't take the posh out of the man and, even though his Venice hovel looked downright like a dungeon in certain aspects it most definitely wasn't. Far less bugs, coldness, and rocks.

As Lambert leaves the hook out, Strange gladly takes it, tossing in a guess of his own. ]

Let me guess: it was the baron and his wife?

[ It had to be those two! Lambert hadn't introduced anybody else in his story and, though Strange wrote nonfiction, he still had an idea of how a proper narrative should go. (Which, of course, means it most likely won't be those two to begin with.) ]

[whattaprick]

You're half right. [ Lambert grins. ]

One of them was the baron's wife ... and the other was the baron's brother.

[ Who gives a damn about your narrative sensibilities, Strange, he'll introduce characters as he wants. ]

They came separately, of course, and each of them had their own version of the story. The wife claimed that black magic had been cast upon her husband so that the man I had met in the hall wasn't a man at all, but using an illusion to appear as one. According to her, the griffin roaming the countryside was her husband, and she wanted me to disenchant it, not kill it.

The brother, though, had a slightly different request. He said the baron's wife had caught him with an enchantment and was driving him mad. That she was a sorceress who had designs of ruling their fief in his stead. Since the griffin was known to be a creature of great insight, he had heard its heart could be used to make to reveal the truth of things -- so he wanted me to hunt it down.

[kingsroads]

[ This is why Strange is an author and Lambert isn't, set up your characters properly. And huh, something else appearing as your loved one while your loved one remains enchanted and also someone being driven mad by an enchantment, don't mind Strange as he just takes yet another drink because wow is that a familiar feeling which really sucks..

He wobbles forward slightly, almost sloshing his drink as he sets it down on a nearby table then carefully, warily, sits back up. Well. He's a bit drunk right now. Strange is feeling preeeetty woozy right now and a tad bit queasy and logically knows that he should stop drinking but (as per usual with him) emotion wins out and fuck that. Still, he wants Lambert to finish that story so he's just staying quiet as he listens. ]

Were either of them right?

here we go, a suitably shitty witcher ending

[whattaprick]

Didn't much matter, in the end.

[ Lazily, Lambert's tail hooks around the handle of Strange's mug, scooting it further out of the magician's immediate reach. That's about as far as he'll go for preventing any unfortunate stomach spills inside this trailer, though. Except maybe help Strange to the nearest window or door. ]

Next day, the baron took out a hunting party for the griffin himself. Got gored for the trouble. While the healers were trying to stitch him back together, his brother attacked his wife, and the guards killed his brother. [ In other words, a political mess. ]

Can't let a griffin that's gotten a taste for human flesh live, so they said they'd let me out on the condition that I hunt it down.

SIDEQUEST COMPLETE, /trumpet fanfare

[kingsroads]

[ Strange is entirely oblivious to Lambert moving the mug out of the way. That fun discovery will happen a bit later. As it is,
he's far too interested in Lambert's story, listening with a frown.

That's it? What a horrible ending, both narratively and actually. One man gored, another man killed, one woman probably hurt or killed as well. Those poor people. Still, it's a bit to be expected. This is Lambert's world, after all, and Strange is fairly certain there's nothing even remotely resembling a happy ending in Witcher world. ]

And then I assume you came in, murdered the beast, and saved the day as best you could?

[ His words are a little bit more pronounced now, as if it's taking Strange effort to string a sentence together or keep a coherent thought going. ]

[whattaprick]

[ That really is it. As Strange has already discerned, happy endings are in short supply in Lambert's line of work, a luxury only afforded to those who have the option of pretending not to see the world as it is. Even the successes are bittersweet: laying a ghost to rest, destroying a monster nest, finding the bodies of the lost. Nothing will bring back the dead. ]

Something like that. [ Lambert drawls. ] I managed to track it down and kill it, all right. Pretty damn unusual finding a beast like that up north. While I was carving it up, I saw scars on its legs -- like it had been shackled, once.

[ He traces a claw on the edge of the mug, then takes a drink before he finishes. ]

By the time I came back with the trophy, the baron was dead ... and his wife survived. You wouldn't be able to call her beautiful again ... but she survived. [ He pauses. ] Not a lot of tears shed over that death.

[kingsroads]

[ Considering the man made an entire mess of the matter, it doesn't surprise Strange that nobody really cared too much about the baron dying. If he thought fucking on a griffin helped get someone pregnant, who knows what other sorts of bizarre decisions he made in his reign. He reaches over towards his cup...but huh. Nothing's there. With a frown, Strange looks from where the cup was back to Lambert. ]

Did I have a drink here?

[ It's an honest question. Part of Strange's madness involved him seeing things and, while he doesn't feel mad right now, he definitely feels WEIRD. His head's starting to feel fuzzy and his words are slurring and oh hell, he's not mad is he, he's just drunk.

Strange stands up, as if to go find his drink. But the moment he takes a step, he dangerously wobbles, loses control of his balance, and starts falling straight towards Lambert. ]

sorry, he's awful

[whattaprick]

You did. [ Lambert confirms, but if Strange can't pick up on the fact that a mug's moved over about two feet, he should probably be cut off. He should have been cut off a while ago, as point of fact -- he's not used to drinking with people who aren't witchers -- but it's too late now.

Luckily, despite his own well-soused state, his reflexes aren't terrible. Hands and tail reach out to catch Strange before he can smack bodily into the witcher, quick enough he doesn't get a chance to discard the mug, so it smacks into Strange's upper arm awkwardly as Lambert gets ahold of him with a low cackle. ]

You really need to work on your seduction technique. [ He levers Strange back upright until both of them are on their feet, Lambert providing support, though not without a slight wobble of his own. ]

you are not sorry in the slightest

[kingsroads]

[ It's like dealing with a wet noodle as Lambert pushes Strange back upright. He's just going in whatever direction the witcher shoves him in because ahaha standing right now? Moving? That's cute, he kind of really doesn't want to do that! Why did he try to move in the first place? ]

You're not womanly enough for me to try and seduce you, [ Strange grumbles, as if this is a perfect topic of conversation in his mind. Sorry Lambert! You're a dude! And also, like fuck Strange could seduce anybody to begin with, his method of getting Arabella to marry him was pretty much sustained pestering and getting a job. ]

And your hair's all wrong. [ Because that is another point against Lambert in Strange's mind. ] And, most importantly, you're not Arabella.

[ He sways to the side slightly. Lambert may be slightly wobbly but Strange is damn wobbly, as he attempts to straighten himself back upright. At least he knows he's drunk and wobbly and will be rather useless for the next few hours, sorry everybody. ]

okay, not even a little bit

[whattaprick]

Good, because I don't ever want to be crazy enough to marry you, and I don't fuck magicians. [ Lambert responds automatically.

However, he's getting the feeling his witty repartee is entirely lost on the man in front of him right now, though, given the state he's in. Drunk and crazy: probably not the wisest mix. Now, what to do about it? ... Right, he worked as a nurse for a hot second, he can do this.

Lambert squints down at the crazed mop of Strange's hair, frowning at him with the sort of expression only a man trying to remember how non-witcher livers work could possibly wear. Experimentally, he takes a few steps with his arm looped around Strange's torso, supporting him as he attempts to stagger them towards the window. ]

Are you going to throw up? [ He asks, tentatively. ]

[kingsroads]

[ His witty repartee is entirely lost as Strange just thinks 'but Arabella married me before I went mad' and it about to say it, but a queasy acidic feeling creeping up to his throat stops that instantly.

Oh. It seems we're already at the part about being drunk that Strange likes the least. ]

Quite probably, [ Strange answers, in a matter-of-fact tone, absolutely ruined by him slumping towards Lambert, leaning on the other man to actually stay upright, as the witcher tries to shove him to the window and the magician tries to hold down his vomit. ]

[whattaprick]

[ Forget manfully holding up Strange like a true friend; Lambert is going to take advantage of the way he slumps to grab a fistful of the back of his shirt and haul his goddamn ass over to that (thankfully open) window and shove Strange's head through the frame and into the cool night air. They're friends, but they are not quite puke on each other friends just yet. ]

Better?

[kingsroads]

[ Strange doesn't answer Lambert. Instead, the sudden lurching mixed with the cool night air (good Lord, how long had they been talking?) mixed with the fact that his queasiness is just getting worse means that it's jostled up Strange enough that he answers Lambert's questions with the lovely sound of him puking out of a window.

He's kind of better? ]

[whattaprick]

[ Most of Lambert's energy is devoted to holding Strange in place so he remains upright enough to ensure the contents of his stomach go out the window, instead of say, dribbling sadly all over himself when he melts to the floor. Unfortunately, this also means he isn't really in a position to help pull any of that long, fucking messy hair out of Strange's face, so he's on his own there.

He waits, patiently, until those violent sounds peter out to as pathetic as they'll get before he tugs Strange back in. ]

[kingsroads]

[ Yeah, he straight up gets a little bit of vomit in his hair, get a haircut ya madman.

Eventually the disgusting vomit noises stop and Strange just limply hangs out of the window before Lambert yanks him back in. #winning. Strange's normal sort of awful is compounded by the fact that he's now a pukey, grumpy sort of awful as well. He has hit the stage of drinking that is pure 'oh god, I regret this.' ]

Your White Gull is horrid, [ he can't help but complain, like a small child just now realizing the consequences of their actions. ]

[whattaprick]

[ Gross, Strange. Lambert, on the other hand, is still pleasantly buzzed, so all he does is laugh at his pain. ]

Can't say I didn't warn you. Just imagine how much worse it could be. [ Except don't, because that's terrible. ]

[kingsroads]

[ As he should be doing, straight up make fun of this loser and the fact that (at least with White Gull) he's the sloppiest drunk around. ]

Be nice or the next time I vomit, it will be all over your shoes.

[ It's Strange trying to be teasing but wow, he's not certain he can stand upright. And his head's spinning. And he feels weird. And his mouth tastes like puke. And his head's fuzzy, how can someone's head be fuzzy but also spinning, this White Gull was stronger than he thought.

So, when he looks over at Lambert, it's with an expression that's two parts grumpy, one part DOWNRIGHT PATHETIC. ]

Can you get me a glass of water?

[whattaprick]

It's still your trailer. [ Is Lambert's complacent, utterly unconcerned response. You're going to have to try harder than that, Strange. Besides, compared to monster ichor and gods know what else exist in the entrails of the beasts he's killed in the past, vomit mostly composed of bile and alcohol is honestly the least offensive thing he could be covered in.

Still, all right, he guesses the nice thing to do would be to keep Strange from being incapacitated all day tomorrow. That sad, pathetic look is going to be enough to get him to roll his eyes and prop Strange back up against the wall, checking to make sure he won't be in immediate danger of sliding down. ]

Try not to fall over. [ With that caring advice dispensed, he's off to retrieve water for the magician, the faucet running merrily as Lambert gulps the last of one mug's contents (hey, waste not, want not) to rinse it out and refill it with water. Strange will find it shortly shoved under his nose, though Lambert's own flagging coordination means he'll get a bit splashed on his front, oops. ]

and then kytha discovers an amazingly dumb piece of witcher lore

[kingsroads]

[ Strange takes the glass, hands brushing up against Lambert's as he does so. But then, he pauses. There's certain things which he had written off or ignored while sober that drunk-Strange is latching onto now. One of them is this: Lambert feels weird. When he makes skin to skin contact with the man, Strange feels an odd tingling sensation that he really has no idea how to describe.

It's not a bad weird. It's just weird.

So, Strange doesn't take the water. Instead, he grasps one hand on Lambert's hand and the other on his wrist, concentrating hard on the witcher's hand as he sloshes even more water on himself. Does this weird tingling feeling have a limit? What's the cause of this in the first place? Does Lambert know this is a thing? ]

restrain yourself from throwing yourself at his feet, strange

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert, not particularly expecting to suddenly have his arm grabbed so abruptly, just ends up squinting at Strange. It's the sort of thing one expects to be followed by an explanation -- even a drunken one -- but when one isn't forthcoming, the witcher's frown just deepens. ]

What is it? [ He has yet to catch on to just how dumb a reasoning Strange has for what he's doing right now, but he's grabbing his hand and his wrist and looking at him in a really weird way and that's just plain disconcerting.

Given that the sensation only goes one way, and sorceresses aren't in the habit of sharing how they feel about anything with Lambert, nope, he's completely clueless about this. On Strange's end, the tingling warmth intensifies up to a certain point, thanks to his inebriation, but eventually just plateaus. It's a distraction from the nausea, in any case. ]