Logs:Drunken Debt
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| RL Date: 21 June, 2015 |
| Who: Dee, R'oan |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After Dee's feelz get complicated, she seeks help getting an immature outlet for her feelings. R'oan helps (more than he knows). |
| Where: Inner Caverns and Sheltered Lakeside Grove, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 1, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Hattie/Mentions, Jemizen/Mentions, Kaelige/Mentions, Paislie/Mentions |
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| It's not that Dee couldn't walk into the Glass Fountain and get a drink. The problem tonight is that it would be a drink, only. Being a candidate so long, there's little chance she wouldn't be recognized as one. Tonight, the brunette is on the prowl outside the staircase that dips down to the swanky booze joint. She's clearly up to no good and it won't be long before someone tries to run her off, but for now her hazel eyes take in the patrons as they angle toward the stairs and disappear below. She's looking for someone-- or something in particular now. If she were looking for R'oan here, it would be a good call for anyone. Yet the brownrider slows in his stride towards the subterranean Fountain as he catches sight of the Candidate, no greeting offered but the slow curve of a brow upwards as he draws close and only that. That Dee moves without hesitation toward the brownrider in the moment after her eyes fall on the brownrider might be sign enough that she was looking for him, or simply that he'll do. "R'oan," she addresses him breathlessly, "Will you do me a favor?" Her brows are lifted as she looks up at him; there's a certain edge to her features an odd desperation that... well, is different from the desperation he's probably faced with from other women. That's not what she's looking for. "And what is that?" he drawls as the woman steps between him and his goal. R'oan is a gentleman enough to not barrel past her, at least, as he slows to a stop. Dee holds her hand between them, keeping it close to her body, uncurling her fingers to reveal what must be the hard earnings of an apprentice there. "Would you buy me a bottle of whiskey and forget you saw me tonight?" Her hazel gaze is intense as it rests on his face, too intense for this to be a candidate looking to have a good time with her friends; she lacks the giggling entourage-- or really, any entourage of any kind. R'oan's gaze slides over the marks to quickly count them up, brow only curving upwards more as he points out, "You didn't count correctly. There's not nearly enough there to pay for mine as well." His grey-green eyes lift to meet hers only after to take in the young woman's intensity. "I'll share," is her equitable solution for the problem. Dee looks up at him, her desperation becoming the plea that is in her next word, "Please?" "Faranth," is exhaled at her desperation, annoyance written into the single word. R'oan adds lowly as he steps forward to reach for those marks, "You owe me." Her acceptance of the debt is in her simple words, "Thank you." Since Dee seems to expect he'll move to complete her request immediately, she steps aside, and back, resuming her skulking post from when he arrived to await his return. He does move to complete it, sliding past her with ease and down the stairs into the Fountain below. It is a long time before he returns, longer than it would take to simply buy a bottle of whiskey, but then the fresh scent of liquor on his lips might be explanation enough when R'oan does return, gripping a fairly nice bottle in his fingers and lifting it in a brief gesture. But he doesn't turn it over, no. Instead, he walks past her and towards the entrance to the Bowl beyond. By the time he's returning, Dee has leaned herself against the wall, and been engaged in conversation by one of the caverns boys about her age. It's obvious that Dee is distracted and that the boy is doing his utmost to win back her attention from the glances she casts toward the stairs. She straightens abruptly when R'oan exits, drawing the boy's eye briefly. The girl makes her excuses politely, even if she does leave a disappointed teen in her wake when she moves to follow the brownrider at a discreet distance. It's only once they're away from the eyes that might've seen them go that she seeks to catch up. R'oan doesn't slow even once they're from the caverns, keeping his stride until he has found the empty grove and claimed a place on one of the stone tables, sitting on the top rather than properly on a bench, of course. The bench is for his boots, as he starts to crack the seal of the whiskey bottle. He doesn't even look towards Dee, as if she is only incidental to all of this. The location, given the season, is less than ideal, but Dee didn't dare double-back to get her winter things, so she's left in the wool skirt and layers of sweaters she wears out of habit. It makes her a frumpy shadow, following the brownrider, a shadow that becomes more as she finally catches up to him and claims a spot on the table next to him, not thinking twice about sitting rather near for the peripheral warmth his body provides. Her eyes are for the whiskey; do they need words? R'oan does seem to give off a heat of his own, despite layers of leather; though, even without, he seems much more acclimated to these climes. He takes a long sip of the whiskey, waiting a moment before taking another quick chug and handing it off to the Candidate. Predictably, Dee coughs after her first swallow, but that doesn't stop her from taking an ample second (or third) before offering the bottle back to the brownrider. She has to get warm somehow and clearly getting drunk is the finish line. "I might be done," she tells him, whether he cares or not. "It's one more thing after one more thing," she sighs, "and I didn't want to come in the first place." Her hand extends to ask for the bottle back. For all that R'oan didn't ask after her problems, he doesn't seem keen to avoid listening. Instead, his gaze slides over her as his lifts the whiskey back to his lips and then hands it off again, waiting for her to continue. He won't even reach for it back for a while, letting her keep it as she wants. She wants. Dee's swallows are bound to get her into trouble if she keeps up this rate, grimacing with each one, but pressing on in her determined way. "If I asked you to, would you take me back to Southern Weyr tonight?" she directs to the brownrider after she's sufficiently plied enough to offer the bottle back. "You already owe me for this," is R'oan's dry answer as he accepts the bottle back, but he doesn't move to drink it as he settles it on a knee. "Do you really want to owe me more?" "You, Kael, Jem, Hattie, Pais, that green," Dee lists off some of her debts with another sigh. "I never owed anyone until I came here. I never needed to owe anyone. "One day I'll be rung out to pay up to all the people I owe." She doesn't explain her next words: "I hope the price won't be too high to pay." It's probably because of the whiskey that she shifts to lean her head against his shoulder. "It already feels like it is." Before her head would even reach the leather of his jacket, she jerks up to give him a look of boozy intensity, "One mistake, and my whole life could be over. Well, the life I wanted, the life I had before Jem volunteered to come here." Does R'oan see the obvious (to an inebriate) importance of this? "Darling, one mistake, and all of our lives can be over," R'oan replies simply as he meets boozy intensity with a self-assured passivity, grey-green eyes holding a buried curiosity that is not let on in any way. "So. True." Dee gives him, the words prompting a smile to spread. "If I could have one wish right now, I might have a selfish one." For once. "I'd probably wish to start this all over, knowing what I know now." The bottle, if he didn't claim it before is brought up again - and if he did, she's seeking it now with grasping fingers already pale from the chill. "I wouldn't have come." This much is said with certainty. "I can't stop making mistakes. Each one bigger than the last." She goes on, and then stops, abrupt, with a laugh, "Even this. I'm probably going to lose my fingers. Then where will I be? A fingerless farmcrafter." There's more laughter-- laughter that's tinged with bitterness that's bizarre to hear from the bright girl who's had too much booze. R'oan gives up the bottle to her grasp easily, not seeking to keep his hold on it, though he points out dryly, "You still can make that choice. You can leave, pretend like you never came. You don't need a wish to do that." "I already asked you if you'd take me home, and you said no," or she heard no. It doesn't seem to matter really as Dee tips the bottle back for another swallow. "And it's not the same, to go back now. Now, it's abandonment of all the people and things I've-- that I'm a part of. It's leaving behind pieces of me. I didn't think I could give things like that away." "Then stay," replies R'oan flatly. "You are acting as if your life is complicated. Life isn't complicated, it's just long. You make your choices and you deal with the shit that follows." "Have you ever thought of writing a book?" Dee asks the brownrider in answer to his words. "Daily Doses of Wisdom by R'oan," she entitles experimentally, though she seems more or less serious about it. "If life isn't complicated, why does it feel complicated?" she poses to the philosopher, taking one more swallow before passing back the bottle. R'oan's lips twist into a crooked smile at Dee's question, but he only answers her last with the dismissive, "Because you're young and everything is new and complicated and overly dramatic. You feel everything so much stronger at your age." Dee tips her head so she can smile warmly at her companion for all that her lips must be starting to turn purple from cold, "And what will I feel strongly at your age?" She asks of him, her look briefly impish. "Your hangover in the morning," counters R'oan so easily, meeting the Candidate's impish look with a dry amusement. "I think you may have something there," Dee decides with barely contained amusement, grinning at the rider. "Perhaps we'll have to be friends. You can tell me everything I need to know and answer all of my questions," the candidate stretches on the table, "and perhaps even save me from myself. You should keep that," the bottle, "away from me or I'll feel my hangover so keenly that I won't be out of bed and then I'll be a disgrace." She might be being over dramatic in the wording laced with levity to prove his point. R'oan's brows lift at something she says, even before he raises that bottle for a long swallow. It's explained as he pushes to his feet, murmuring, "I can't save you from anything. I can't even save myself." "Maybe we can save each other then," Dee amends amicably, not seeking to stop him. "Thanks, R'oan," she adds, her smile as soft as the bleary blinks of her eyes. "I needed this." She's not on her feet immediately after him, but not long behind, soon enough certainly that she won't pass out here and risk losing her fingers in the end. She gets no answer, no agreement. Only the departing back of the brownrider, though the lift of his fingers acknowledges her thanks. |
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