Logs:Dastardly Drunk
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| RL Date: 18 September, 2014 |
| Who: H'vier, Lycinea |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Lycinea is in the wrong place at the wrong time with drunk H'vier. There's an incident. |
| Where: Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 6, Month 11, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Male-on-female assault. Violence. Back-dated. |
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| Sheltered Lakeside Ledge, High Reaches Weyr The far side of the lake gets much less foot traffic - there's less grass, due to the poorer soil, and the bed of the lake is muddy and not at all as nice to walk in. But a small stand of four willow trees with long branches hanging low and swinging in the breeze provides some relief from the sun during the heat of the day. A pair of small curved benches sit underneath the trees. The ground rises up sharply towards the northwest end of the lakeside, and the waterfall that feeds the lake thunders downwards there, foaming the water and creating a fine mist in the air that distorts the light.
H'vier's approach is not a silent one. He's not really talking, but the way he walks isn't exactly graceful right now. There's a bottle in one hand, his jacket unbuttoned and his hair slightly ruffled. It suits the fact that his expression is kind of sloppy in a way that anyone can probably recognize readily enough. And he clearly doesn't see Lycinea sitting nearby. Because otherwise he wouldn't start unfastening his pants to relieve himself against a tree, right? "Ew." That'll have to do as greetings go. Lycinea's familiar syllable of disgust is certainly loud enough to be directed at the bronzerider. She huddles herself a little smaller there on her blanket and reaches one pink-mittened hand to nudge the basket a little farther open. "Can't you do that somewhere else?" She complains in a way that isn't entirely unlike a whine, though with more attitude and thusly no less annoying to the average person. The word draws his attention, but not enough to make him stop. When a man has to go, he's got to go! Especially when he's been drinking. But at least he's not turning to face her while he's hanging out or anything. Though that's likely to be simple coincidence rather than intentional. "Do you have to keep talking?" H'vier might mean 'so loud' or 'so high' but that never actually makes it out of his mouth. And he's done soon enough, tucking himself away before turning to approach her claimed territory. "What's all this?" "Do you have to keep breathing?" Lycinea mimics the rhythm of his speech, but makes her tone substantially snarkier. Such is the stuff of sixteen turn old's witty repartee. She probably doesn't mean it, given that they last parted on fair to good terms. "I'm on a date," is the answer she gives. "A romantic one. And you're ruining it." She flicks her fingers at him in a shooing gesture. Nevermind that she's dressed as she is and there's no evidence of another person. Certainly there's no wine or flowers to be seen. Even drunk H'vier can tell that she's not on a date. Or maybe it's just that drunk H'vier doesn't care if she is or not. "Not wearing that, you're not. What happened to all the nice shit I bought you? You can't do romantic wearing... that," he says, gesturing at her in general in a way that's not especially flattering. And because he's an asshole, he moves to sit down on her blanket and take another drink from his bottle. "The nice shit you bought me," Lycinea quotes with emphasis by way of articulating each word carefully, "is for warm weather," not appropriate for tonight. The weather has turned too cool for shorter skirts and sleeveless tops, not that that was the only thing he bought her, but not much in the way of guarding against the cold. "Want to buy me more?" She offers, generously, even if she does draw her knees closer to her chest when he sits down. "Why are you drunk?" She asks, wrinkling her nose, possibly at him, or maybe just the smell of him. "Do you want more?" asks H'vier with what appears to be genuine curiosity. He lifts his bottle to look at it when she questions his drunkenness. Then he takes another drink since it's already halfway to his face. "Cause I can be. Helps to forget. Helps me sleep." Not that he plans on sleeping here. "Why're you out here all by yourself?" He even offers her the bottle because he's a gentleman like that. She gives them the Please look. Not the usual yes, please, but the 'As If' please when he offers that bottle over. "That smells disgusting." Lya informs him bluntly. Even if someone who drank alcohol at all mightn't think so. "Yes, I want more. But I haven't the marks. I don't dress like this because I want to. I'm hard on my clothes and the stores only have so much that fits." Could she have done better than she has? Debatably yes, but that's not the current topic of discussion. "What are you forgetting?" Which doesn't answer why she's out here alone. For all her teen-aged disgust, H'vier seems content that he doesn't have to share his booze. More for him! "I could buy more. Buy you more. Clothes." Talking is difficult when one is also thinking. The fact that he's thinking while he's looking at Lya's clothes is probably not an awesome thing. "You should take your clothes off." It's kind of abrupt, both the words and the way he says it. And it's difficult to tell if that's supposed to be some joke about while she's working or a more immediate request. "Uh, no." Shut down. Lycinea doesn't even entertain the notion. "It took forever to get this many layers on so I wouldn't catch my death out here, and I'm not about to die because a pervy bronzerider decides he didn't get enough of an eyeful in the baths." She moves one foot and lets it slide out enough to nudge his thigh. If the shooing gesture didn't work, maybe a more physical prodding will. "You should put on more clothes if you're going to be traipsing about in this kind of weather." Aw, it's almost like she cares! When her foot nudges his thigh, one of his hands moves more quickly than the alcohol that's been slowing down his thoughts would suggest he could manage. His hand closes firmly around her ankle and, after a moment, H'vier starts pulling her closer. "I could take you back to my place so you'll stay warm," he offers. Because he's a nice guy like that. "Ugh," is Lycinea's reaction to both the sudden grip on her ankle and the offer. "You'd only try something stupid," she points out, "and we've already been over that I'm not interested in becoming anyone's weyr-bound love slave." She tries to tug her ankle free, but he's stronger than she is and in the superior position leverage-wise, so with an audible "Oof," she slides on the blanket toward him, hands quickly moving to grab the back and the bottom of the bench on either side of her to try to halt or at least slow the progress he's making in getting her stretched out on the bench, her one knee still bent acting as some manner of defense, maybe. "You only think it's stupid because you've never tried it, sunshine. You don't know what you're missing yet. We should change that." H'vier's words are a little sloppy, but the way he moves is less so. His bottle is set aside before he's half rising and drawing her ankle with him, trying to pull her part of the way off of the bench to make it easier for him to start the process of bending her over it from her knees. There's arguing with pervy H'vier, and then there's arguing with drunk pervy H'vier. Lycinea is suddenly realizing the latter is probably not going to do her any good. It's no longer fun and it's no longer a game. "Oh, shit," is the revelation swear of the night. The teen isn't any kind of trained fighter, so it'll be dumb luck if her suddenly kicking foot lands against his middle at just the right moment as he's half-rising, when it's most-likely to impact his balance in a way that could send him sprawling. His balance is already compromised by the alcohol, so the kick of Lycinea's foot sends him reeling to try keeping himself upright. Unfortunately it doesn't make him actually release said foot until he's practically on his ass. His recovery is quickly, for a drunk guy, focused on cursing at her and groping to try regaining some sort of purchase. She shrieks. She can't help it. Later, she can be mad that she let such a girly sound slip from her lips, but just now, as she's half-lunged over the bronzerider's thighs, one leg drawn awkwardly forward by his hand. Lycinea isn't many things, but she is fast. Faster than even a fast drunk guy, but not fast enough that his hand doesn't gain a solid grip on the thick, worn and patched wool coat that is her outermost layer. The grip H'vier finds is latched onto instantly and with a certain fervor as he tries to tug her firmly back toward him. "Dammit, calm the fuck down!" is not growled in a way that would make very many people very calm even in other circumstances. That's he's getting frustrated with her squirreliness, and probably his own slowish reflexes, is pretty obvious. Lya isn't idle as soon as she realizes she's not free to flee. Her fingers work fast at the buttons, stumbling a little as she tries to pull away and he tries to keep her. "Go jump in the lake, perv!" She returns heatedly, though hardly the sort of heat H'vier would like her to have at this moment. Its half a breath later that the last button pops off rather than being worked open; old clothes have to be good for something, right? And she runs, wool coat, blanket and glow basket abandoned in her haste to simply get away. But don't worry, with how fast she's running, she'll soon be warm enough without them! |
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