Logs:N'thei's Emo Turnover
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| RL Date: 28 October, 2007 |
| Who: N'thei |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| When: Day 1, Month 1, Turn 14 (Interval 10) |
| Cold air shocked sobriety into N'thei after his long sojourn in the galleries. His cheeks and nose were startled with the awareness of nighttime winter, the sharp sting enough to clear the drowse that had come over him after Zahava left in the galleries. And, as usual, he began to feel bad. There really was no reason to be such a prick to Zahava. After too many drinks, after too much flirting and not enough follow-through-- purely his own fault, there were still willing girls out there-- he knew damn well that he should have gone to bed and slept it off. He knew himself drunk, knew how well he could hide it, and knew exactly what kind of asshole he would be if he interacted with anyone he felt even a little slighted by. Despite himself, he let Zahava sting him that night, and it still stung a little even weeks later. His feet crunched across ice and the thin layer of snow that clung to the bowl of Fort Weyr, then clicked a staccato against the stone steps leading to the temporary weyr. The warmth of the fire, the big damn fire that he kept roaring in this place in as coal-wasteful a fashion as he could manage, blasted him in precisely the same way the cold stung him just a moment ago. He resented it, and then he snickered at the very act of resenting a warm weyr. "I'm a cross bastard tonight." Swinging the coat off his shoulders, N'thei cast it across the bed and flopped down after it. With a grunt, he reached down to pull loose the laces of his boots, then pry them off toe-to-heel, and let the thump heavily to the floor. He was ready to sleep, but he knew he'd have to square with his conscience before there'd be any sleep tonight. Fortunately, so fortunately, Wyaeth was asleep on the sands with Ciath, so at least he wouldn't have to get into another argument about his treatment of Zahava. There's just no explaining to a dragon about the quality of human emotions, N'thei knew. He didn't really hold Zahava accountable for running out on him, and he didn't really care that she had. What he cared about, and the whole reason he let himself be an asshole to her, was something she had no control over. Mentally kicking himself, aware of just how pissed he'd be if he thought she was in there comparing him to someone else and being annoyed that she wasn't the right person, he felt his hand reaching instinctively for the flask in the pocket of the coat so nearby. Words spilled from him with a chuckle; "Now everybody's died, so until our tears are dried... we'll drink and drink and drink and drink, and then we'll drink some more." The flask touched his lips, just barely, and he broke into another laugh, already stupidly drunk. "Get yourself together, man," right before he passed out. |
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