knightsoflegend | Open ♔ Blackbirds sing sad harmonies lost to the humming wires that feed

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Open ♔ Blackbirds sing sad harmonies lost to the humming wires that feed

WHO || Alainn O'Rourke and Thomas Bancroft
WHAT || A night of drinking together, bro-ship style
WHERE || Wherever the bottles lead them
WHEN || Sunday, March 8th when the Russia mission returns
HOW || Prose or Actionspam, whatever you prefer

♫ This Hollow World by Johnny Hollow

Alainn knew that Thomas was probably well ahead of her in the amount he'd had to drink, though she was certain he wouldn't be inebriated as of yet. The phone call he'd had to make was terrible, the whole thing was terrible. He had shown a face to the Knights rarely seen by any, the side of him that was like the far side of the moon, where usually he was so luminescent. They shared a lot of the same qualities, the both of them, and she was glad he would accept her company for the night. They both needed this, mutual support in a terrible time, and no one there to judge them in how they chose to express their grief. With a shit-ton of alcohol.

She arrives at the door to his room, balancing an obscene amount of liquor bottles in her arms, even more clanging in the pockets of her trench coat. Having no free hands she takes the toe of her boot and gives it a few insistent kicks. Hopefully he would be there, otherwise she was going to plant herself in front of his door and start without him.

"Thomas! Are ye in there?"

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"Ohhh, I don't know about need to. After all, a Dragon's Claw Stands Alone." He intones the saying with a wry sense of conflated pompousness, and punctuates it with a humorous laugh. "Isn't the first time I've lost a friend, certainly won't be the last. But it isn't about that bit." He glances over at her.

"Do you have any experience with the subject?"

She keeps her eyes on him as he speaks, finally sitting forward to rest her arms on her knees with the bottle dangling from her fingertips between them. "You're not alone Thomas, even though you feel it."

Her shoulders shrug at his question, the reaction automatic and defensive. A moment goes by before she relaxes, taking another swig before looking over at him again. She had no right to ask him to talk if she wasn't willing as well.

"Aye, I've got experience with death alright." She glances back to the front, clearing her throat softly. "What bit is it about, then?"

Thomas shoots her a saddened little smile, though his eyes aren't without humor. "I didn't mean to imply I was. Just that I'm meant to be." It's said without any tone of regret, despite the seemingly cynical nature of the words. "It's a double burden, you know, nigh on immortality coupled with the title. Sometimes I wonder how Wynn ever--" He cuts off that line of thinking, shaking his head and having another drink, before looking back at her with sympathetic eyes.

"Watching my team blame themselves, that's the bit."

"That rule is a ridiculous one, anyway." The words pour out of her mouth quickly, building from seemingly nowhere. She hates the thought of Thomas being alone, having to deal with his burdens on his own. It wasn't fair.

"I know why it's in place, I know what it's meant to do, but it is still stupid. No one should have to be alone their entire life just because a set of archaic rules demand they have no life in order to do their job well. Unless they choose to be alone. It should never be imposed upon them. People are meant to have one another, in some way or another, and everyone needs that one other person they can just be with."

The burst of emotion seems to relent a bit though her hands are still clenched around the bottle, her knuckles white. The breath huffs out of her mouth and she takes a quick drink from the bottle once more, the look on her face completely offended. After a few moments of hard breathing her face softens, slipping into abashed lines. The look she gives to Thomas is sheepish, her face slightly red with a combination of alcohol and embarrassment.

"I don't understand how the three of you can deal with it. You're made of better material than meself." She fidgets for a moment, having forgotten during her outburst that this was supposed to be a bro-ship drinking binge, not time for her to go all girly concerned over Thomas. Apparently she was going to have a hard time separating the two. She finally kicks her boots off, settling once more against the bed as she stretches her legs out in front of herself.

"Everyone is going to blame themselves for what happened, no matter what you say Thomas. I know this is going to sound harsh, and please don't take it the wrong way, but this is what makes people teammates. This kind of thing is what brings us all together, as an entire Knighthood. When a member of a team is wounded, or is killed, that brings a sense of closeness to the rest of the team, as it would do with a family or close friends. This is the kind of thing that makes us the organization we are. Otherwise we would be even more fractured than we already are. When death has no effect on us... then we have a serious problem." Another drink goes down smoothly, her contemplation once more turning to embarrassment as she realizes the fact that she just tried to explain the happenings of teamwork to a Dragon's Claw who had been around far longer than she ever would be. She bites her lip, looking at him again once more with a red face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to give you a lecture in "things that Sir Thomas already knows and has more experience with than I will ever see and know." And I certainly am not trying to play down what happened with Francesca, or the fact that you have every right in the world to feel how you do. But I know you Thomas. If there was something that could have been done to prevent this, it would have been done. I know that."

He lets her rant, eyebrows lifted in mild surprise as he casually downs more of his bottle, not interrupting her flow until it's quite clear that she's wound herself back down again. Not everyone handles their liquor so well as an aasimar, and Alainn's mouth has a tendency to get away from her even without the help. He knows better than to try and put a stop to it.

"First off," he says, lifting a finger, and glancing over at her as if to make certain she really is done. "I did choose it. Nothing's been imposed on me without my will, so you can shelve the 'woe is Thomas' bit, I promise. I knew what I was signing on board for, and it's never given me a moment's grief."

He takes a break to pause for effect, and another hearty drink.

"Secondly, you're right. I already know it all too well, but specific circumstances... vary from instance to instance and the circumstances of this instance bother me in particular."

A beat, and then he adds: "I take it you saw the public spectacle that squire of Lan's made."

Alainn does hold her tongue as Thomas speaks, thoroughly chastened. She knows better than anyone how her mouth gets ahead of her brain, especially if she allows her emotions to take control, as what normally happens. She really didn't think that Thomas rode the "woe is me" train and had instead super-imposed her own feelings onto him and his circumstance. Thankfully for her Thomas was the kind of guy who let stuff like a slightly tipsy half-elf on a rant roll off his shoulders. Her face remains red, but she nods at his words, feeling more than a bit foolish for her reaction. Well, not for her reaction, but more for the fact that she let her mouth run loose as she was wont to do.

"Sorry 'bout that." This is said grudgingly, her eyes fixed on the bottle as she takes another long pull to match his. She pulls up her metaphorical big girl pants, wraps herself once more in her bro-ship cloak and follows his last thought away from her embarrassment.

"Aye, I saw it." She cringes, remembering, then glances back to Thomas finally, distracted once more. "It was... I can relate to someone letting their tongue run away with themselves, but that..." She shakes her head, eyes straying around the room again.

"No apology necessary," he says dismissively, waving a hand airily in her direction. "As for him, I have the feeling he's suffering himself, even if we're all feeling it on different levels. Every man's sorrow is the deepest sorrow, they say." He sounds vaguely amused by the saying, and glances at her once.

"Of course it's hardly a competition."

"And every woman's," she mumbles barely loud enough to be heard. It isn't bitter sounding, more like she just feels it should be in that saying as well. Gender-equal mourning, or something like that.

"Thank the gods we at least draw the line at that." She takes another drink of the dark liquor, hardly making a face at the fire burning down her throat. She looks back over to him curiously, a question clearly on her tongue, but she shakes her head, taking another drink and resting her forearms on her knees again.

"Liquor burning the question off your tongue?" he asked, obviously having caught the look. There was good humor in the question, however, and he seemed genuinely curious.

She looks over at him a moment, obviously choosing which question to ask. Seeming to finally settle on one she cocks her head to the side, curiosity once more plain on her features.

"How long've you been a Knight, Thomas?"

"Ohhhh," he mused, leaning his head back and looking amused as he vaguely bopped his head back and forth. "About... a hundred and nine years. Give or take."

He turned a sudden flash of smile in her direction.

Her eyebrows shoot up, an impressed look flashing across her features. "Well damn."

She doesn't know what else to say for a moment, her own grin flashing at him in return. She lifts her bottle once more, realizing it's empty and sets it aside to reach for another. Unscrewing the cap she taps the new bottle against his, the clink resounding satisfyingly in the air of the room as she takes a slower swallow.

"What did you do before you were a Knight?"

He pauses in the act of raising his bottle to his mouth at the follow-up, a hint of something not entirely unlike sheepishness creeping into his expression. But he matches it with a grin that tempers out any real shame from the moment.

"Made a mess of things, mostly," he admitted. "And for awhile after I was one, too, if you must know."

She snorts, a tiny chuckle coming from between her lips as she leans back once more against the bed. "Would you tell me about it if I asked nicely?"

She rolls her head in his direction once more, her arms crossing lightly over her stomach while carefully cradling the bottle in the crook of her arm.

"No, but I might if you beat it out of me," he countered, shooting her a teasing smirk, before draining the remainder of his drink. He unceremoniously tossed the bottle over his shoulder, listening to it shatter on the far side of the bed. His eyes followed the arc of it, and then he gave a little sigh. "Very satisfying, that."

"I seriously doubt I could take you on in the condition you're in. It would hardly be a fair fight." She couldn't help the smile from spreading as her eyes also followed the bottle. At the sound of the glass hitting the floor she swiped up another bottle, handing it over to him casually.

"Though perhaps an arm-wrestling match would be acceptable. I win, you spill. You win and... Well, okay maybe that's not the best bargain I guess cuz I don't have much to offer."

"Nonsense. Everyone has a story, my dear. And I've yet to hear all of yours." He took the bottle with a grateful air, turning it to look over the label.

"Beautiful women always have interesting pasts."

"I got that one off a back-alley seller on my last mission. He sold the best Shadow liquor I've found yet. Too bad we had to put him out of business for dealing in black-magic artifacts too..." She nodded to the bottle he held, indicating with her tone he should be grateful to be getting such good liquor to drink.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at his obvious deflection to her own questions she had about him. She took another pull from her bottle, rolling the alcohol around her tongue before swallowing, buying time to think.

"How about a story for a story? Quid pro quo-ish."

"It's unfortunate how criminals always have a monopoly on the best booze," he lamented, cracking it open. Thomas pretended to consider for a moment, before nodding.

"Very well. Though I was rather looking forward to that arm wrestling match now."

"We can always wrestle afterwards, if you like." She winks at him, her eyebrows doing a dance as she chuckles. Reaching into her pocket she pulls out a quarter, bouncing it on her palm a few times as she looks at him.

"Heads you go first, tails I do. Sound fair?"

"Sounds fair to me, but considering I'm blessed with unusual luck, perhaps it's not fair to all parties involved." A large grin makes it difficult to tell whether he's joking or not. "Tails seems appropriate, in either case."

"Very appropriate," she smirks, the quarter bouncing a few more times in her palm. Balancing the coin on her thumb and forefinger takes a few tries considering just how very intoxicated she is, but finally it rests solidly on the two digits waiting to be flipped. [I'm just going to roll a percentile- 1-49= heads and 50-100= tails?]

With a flick of her thumb the coin is in the air, the dull shine of metal catching the light as it flips over and again on it's rise high towards the ceiling, then down once more, heading straight towards her palm. [I rolled it on an online roller and got a 10. I'm not sure if this will show it to you, but here is a link to it just to prove it :P. If you wanna change how this is done just lemme know!]

Her free hand slaps over the coin so as to make sure it doesn't fall to the ground, and slowly she peels that hand away, exposing the coin as it landed heads up. Her grin flashed to Thomas, triumph in her eyes. "Heads it is."

Edited 2012-08-23 14:55 (UTC)

He hisses a dramatic intake of breath between his teeth, turning his head away as if he daren't look, but then peeks back and grins.

"I suppose the ol' heads have it then." He stretches his legs out long in front of him, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. "Before I was a Knight, eh. You're trusting to a lot of rusty memories here..." He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "Nigh over a hundred years now, really."

She grins wider at him, shrugging her shoulders at his words. "Aye, ye've said yer a fogey before. I expect a lot of references to the olden days and the such."

She leans her head back against the bed again, fingers threaded together and resting on her abdomen. "Whenever you're ready then, Bancroft."

"Oh let's see then... I was born in 1867, and didn't join up til 1903. They thought I was something of a scalawag then, so you can imagine what I came from." He shoots her a grin, with his too-sharp teeth. "Unlike most of you hoodlums, however, I was born and raised in this world. My mother was the Veil traveler."

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pfft i trust you! ♥

♥!

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