multiversallogs | Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

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Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

Who: Apollo and YOU, please

What: Having a drink

Where: One of the taverns by the inn

When: Sukkardi (Saturday)evening

Notes: Multiple threads okay!

Warnings:Tipsy Apollo?

Apollo was not unfamiliar with battle. He'd watched dozens of them. Hundreds of them, maybe. He knew how war worked, understood that people were drawn to bloodshed, believed that world peace would never be achieved. Still, it had never mattered before.

He had never been in the middle of it before.

The whole event had left a bad taste in his mouth, which was why he found himself knocking back drinks. More than ever, he was eager to get back home, to be able to distance himself from all the unpleasantry again. "Another," he called out, pushing his empty glass back. Half distracted by a woman down at the other end of the bar with dark eyes and a large chest. Eyeing him less than discretely and he felt nothing. A sigh of disgust. What was wrong with him?

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Sometimes, Cassandra just knew things. At first, when she was younger, she would often blame it on the prophecy curse. Gradually, over time, however, she had learned otherwise. Prophecies were all well and good, but she could glean just as much knowledge from observation. That was a side effect of the prophecy, or rather, a side effect of what the prophecy had done to her, socially speaking. She was very good at being on the outside and looking in. And somehow, that instinct kicked in as she was walking past the tavern, on her way back to the inn.

She was tired and dirty and sick to death of all of the creeping, crawling things that had been visiting the city, but nevertheless, she stepped inside of the tavern. The smell of alcohol was overbearing. It reminded her of the symposiums her father would sometimes hold. But rather than fling the dregs of their drinks into a cup, the drunken men seemed more preoccupied with a well-endowed woman sitting at the bar.

Cassandra sighed, ready to leave, but as she was turning, she spotted Apollo out of the corner of her eye. For a moment, she seriously considered cracking him over the head with her bow. Don't tell anyone, he said. Well, that had gone well. And of course, where had he been while all the rest of them were fighting for their lives? She suspected he had been here, eying the busty woman. Her blood began to boil.

Apollo saw Cassandra soon enough. Goodness, she was pretty when she was angry. Her cheeks got flushed and her eyes sparkled and she stuck her breasts out.

"Cassandra!" he called out, raising his glass in cheerful greeting before he had time to ask himself why it was that she was angry.

Uh oh.

She turned to look at him, those sparkling, angry eyes of hers nearly on fire. A part of her wished she had Cris' talent for lighting fires out of nothing. She would have laid that pair of trousers to waste and laughed while doing it. Perhaps the drink too. It seemed quite clear that he had had one too many.

"Drowning your sorrows?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest. "I imagine you have ample reasons to be sorry."

She took a coin out of her pocket, tossing it between her hands. "Please, have a drink on me."

He caught the coin and grinned, immediately pleased with himself. This many drinks and he still had the reflexes of a cat.

"No sorrows," he responded, patting the seat beside him. "Drinking a toast to this great city is all. Care to join me?"

Cassandra took out a second coin, lobbing it none-too-gently at Apollo's head. "Please," she said tightly, "have mine for me." Her hands, she realized, were shaking. She had balled them up into fists and they were sending shivers all the way up through her elbows. Crossly, she put them behind her back.

"And have you been here the whole time?" she asked. There was little more than a sliver of doubt in her mind. She had not seen Apollo on the battlefield, nor, for that matter, since he told her to keep quiet about what she had seen.

As to why she was so angry...it was an interesting question. She wasn't surprised. Just angry.

"Oh, that's why you're so mad?" he asked, rubbing the spot on his head where the coin had hit.

Slowly, one hand up in self defense, he reached down, picking up a bow and arrow that were leaning beside the counter next to him. "I got here about an hour ago," he explained, holding up the bow and arrow for her observation. "Set up station on a balcony."

Close enough to help. Far away not to get hurt.

She eyed the bow critically for a moment. He could have been lying to her, of course. It wouldn't be the first time. Still, this place did have a balcony. She decided that she would ask someone else in the room later. Either in front of him, or behind his back, depending on how angry this encounter made her. Depending on how much she wanted to sting him, bruise his pride.

Still, she could feel a dozen barbs on the tip of her tongue.

Well, I'm glad to see the alcohol has been protected from the monsters.

That was a good one.

"I've just come from a first aid station," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "I've been instructed to direct anyone who might be injured that way." She glanced from side to side. "Is anyone here injured?"

He set the bow down, turning back to his drink. If she wanted to fume, she could fume. Frankly, she'd been avoiding him since they arrived and he wasn't going to go crawling to her feet.

"Not that I saw," he said shortly. "You're free to take a gander yourself."

"I can usually spot injured people," she sighed. "They're large. I have good eyes."

Cassandra ran a hand through her hair. All at once, a wave of utter exhaustion hit her. She had spent the entire week shooting at creeping, crawling things with Boromir and Ianto. Her fingers were sore and bloody. Her arms were tired. There was simply not enough left in her to continue this argument.

She took the remaining coins out of her pocket and walked over to the bar, setting them down by Apollo's elbow. "Don't walk home tonight in your condition," she said. "Stay here."

"I've got money of my own," he said, pushing the coins back away. "Don't need your pity. Never did."

Now he was annoyed.

"Sit down, get a drink. You look like hell."

Not true, but no reason to be nice to her if she was going to be grumpy and patronizing.

Pity? Hardly. It was true, Cassandra had pitied Apollo once. Such a lonely, lost creature with no one else who would never understand love. But she had run out of pity for him back in Willaknapp. Perhaps it was unfair. Perhaps it wasn't Apollo's fault that he was stuck. But it was pointless to waste pity.

Calmly, Cassandra collected her coins, putting them back in her pocket. "No, thank you," she said politely. "I think I'm exhausted enough without any drinks."

She glanced down at her hands. Well, he had gotten one thing right. She certainly did look like hell.

"Then sit and keep an old--"

Friend? Hardly. Lover? Not recently.

"--acquaintance some company," he decided on. Again, he patted the seat

"I imagine my being here would hinder your attempts at conquest," Cassandra said absently. Still, she sat down on the seat. She supposed she would spare him five minutes or so. Her bed would still be there, of course. And there was clearly something wrong with him. Something other than being highly intoxicated, of course.

She glanced down the bar at the woman with an ample bosom and dark eyes. "She's pretty."

A pale imitation, but pretty.

"I suppose she is," he answered, glancing at her way. Apollo wasn't planning on making any conquests tonight, he was much too tired and a little too drunk for it, but the idea that Cassandra didn't like it made him want to tease her.

"Jealous?"

Cassandra propped her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her palm. "Curious," she replied with a shrug. "This place is different. It isn't like the caravan. It's a community. And I find myself wondering how you're going to fit in within the community." Perhaps he would have done better in Rowan. Unfortunately, that wasn't exactly an option for either of them right now. "Or are you still convinced that we're going to disappear at any moment? Or...you're going to disappear at any moment?"

She swirled one finger in a circle on top of the bar counter. "You know, I hadn't thought of that before. You. Moving on someplace else. Or me. Our being separated."

He turned to look at her, feeling the alcohol giving him a push toward asking the question he was thinking. A gentle nudge, just enough to convince him not to think through his questions.

"I've thought about it. Would you prefer it, or would you miss me?"

He flashed her a brilliant smile.

An awkward question, to be certain. Made more so by the fact that he was completely drunk. "Difficult to say, when you're like this," she replied. After all, she couldn't lie. "All things told, I think I prefer you when you're sober. You're more dangerous, but less..." She made a futile gesture of her hand, unable to come up with the proper word.

"How long would it take you to stop missing me?" she asked. It went without saying that he would miss her, at least remotely. After all, what was it? A hundred years after her death? And he still remembered her name.

Still claimed to love her.

With that humbling thought, she lowered her eyes. "We should not be having this conversation like this."

He snorted in derision.

"I can't give you a number right off the top of my head. You know I'd miss you. The question is, would you miss me?"

Apollo reached over, boldly placed his hand on her thigh. "If I stay the night, will you stay with me?"

Cassandra's eyes flicked down to his hand. Her entire body stiffened and it took every measure of her strength not to curl her fingers into claws and to plunge them into his eyes. Moving very slowly, she reached out, clasping his wrist and pulling his hand off of her skin. "I wouldn't sleep with you," she said. "And that's what you were really asking, wasn't it?"

She looked up, into his eyes. "It really wouldn't mean much. Like this. Just one more drink after so many. And that doesn't appeal to me much. You know that."

He waved his hand dismissively, drawing away. "Too tired for sex tonight," he explained. "Or not drunk enough. But at this point, what's the use in pretending it would mean nothing?"

He held up a finger. "Once? maybe an accident. The mood."

He held up a second finger. "Twice? You have feelings too."

She arched an eyebrow. "I have feelings," she said quietly. "I have too many feelings, most of the time. And I have difficulties telling them apart, for which I can thank you." She lowered her hand, pressing it to the counter of the bar as she leaned forward, toward him. "Thank you very much."

Cassandra leaned back, turning her seat to face directly forward, toward the shelves of differently colored bottles behind the bar. How was it he could be so charming one moment, then so irritating the next? Surely, she had always known him to be mercurial. But what hadn't it bothered her before? Youthful enthusiasm, at first. Followed by visceral hate. Now she was trapped somewhere in between.

"As for my feelings about you," she said. "Right now, I feel frustrated."

"Can't blame me for everything, Swan," he pointed out, taking another sip of his drink. "People make their own choices in life. The gods don't control everything."

He turned to look at her. "Take this, for instance. You can decide that I'm the enemy. You can decide that I'm an ass. But we both know that you're just tired and troubled from that battle you just fought and right now, being mad at me is a good distraction."

He raised a hand to the tender, gesturing him over. "A drink for the lady."

"Water," Cassandra immediately told the tender, before turning her chair back to face Apollo.

"You are not the enemy," she said quietly, her tone even. "You're no hero, of course, but you are hardly an enemy."

And there it was. The reason why Cassandra was so inexplicably angry at him tonight. He wasn't a hero. He wasn't even heroic. Hell was breaking loose and he, an immortal, was cowering in a bar with a bottle and a bow, like her brother.

She sat back, hard, on her seat, putting a hand to her mouth. Oh. That was it.

She was looking for Othryoneus.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Something just hit you, Swan?"

Frankly, given her current expression, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to know what that something was.

She shook her head. "Nothing that needs to be said," she answered quietly. She didn't want to say it and he sure as hell wouldn't want to hear it. So why bother?

Cassandra stood up, nearly tripping over the stood beneath her. "Just promise me you won't go wandering around the streets while you're drunk. It isn't safe."

Let him think it was patronizing. She didn't care. Her heart was in the right place.

Wasn't it?

Fire up that fiddle, boy, and bring me one last drink [open]

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