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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If Apollo's at all surprised by the fingers, he doesn't show it.

Then again, he is more than a little drunk.

"So. Celebrating your not-being-dead?"

"Not really. I just felt like being out." Sebastian isn't sure how else to explain that he felt the need for the bustle and noise of people, but that he wasn't usually one to participate in that. There are times when he feels a bit like being a rock or a slow eddy in a fast-moving stream.

"And you?"

"Just celebrating good liquor at this point," he said with a laugh. He spun the glass around, balancing the glass by pressing his fingertip against the rim.

"Were you fighting?" he asked.

"No more than a few of the newts. These days, I'm not too swift," he remarks, gesturing to his bad knee, "And someone needed to keep the homefires burning, as it were. You?"

As Sebastian's order arrives and he pays the server, he takes a moment to wonder which, if any, of Apollo's providences would he fall under. He has no faculty for music or geometry, no connection to the sun, and his days in athleticism are behind him. While his namesake, St Sebastian, has a great many similarities to the Apollonian archetype, Sebastian knows that of all the Hellenic deities, he would most likely favour Athena.

He gestured to his bow and arrow. "I was involved from a distance." A description of the last few months of his life, really.

Apollo glanced down at the man's leg. "If you don't mind my asking," he said, emboldened by the drink, "What happened to you?"

"When I was younger, I fought in a war." When he used to live in Britain, Sebastian habitually lied and said that he'd been injured in a car accident. If he'd told the truth, it would've only led to awkward questions about which war.

"It's just an old injury from that time. Nothing to do with the creatures here."

"You are still a very good looking man," Apollo offered, clasping his hand onto Sebastian's shoulder. "I have no doubt you can still seduce a very fine lady."

He leaned in, whispering loudly "I would be happy to help. I believe the term they use in these parts is wingman."

Sebastian's expression is truly something to behold.

"Ah, well, thank you," he says as he moves through surprise, confusion, and into genuine amusement. "Velcro usually does that for me, but he has his limits."

Wuffle?

"Who's Velcro?" he asked, pulling back and furrowing his brow.

"Is he better looking than me?"

"My dog. His name is Velcro," he replies, gesturing to where the dog rests at his feet.

Apollo looked down at the dog, frowned, and then looked back at Sebastian.

"He helps you with women?"

A pause.

"I don't understand. He doesn't seem like a sparkling conversationalist."

Sebastian pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment.

"Er, that was joke. Sorry." He'd been trying to gently and humorously imply that he doesn't use a 'wingman'.

Apollo eyed him curiously. The drink prodded him on.

"Nervous because of the missing bits or are you more of a man's man?" No judgment, drunken or not.

"None of the above: I'm not nervous, don't care about my scarring, and I'm straight." Sebastian had come out to the tavern for a quick meal and the chance to unwind and people watch. He hadn't counted on what felt like the beginning of a headache.

"I'm not actively out searching for a partner."

"Hmm," Apollo retorted smoothly. After a moment of consideration, he nodded and seemed to accept this, clapping his hand against Sebastian's shoulder.

"Did you say your name?"

"LeMat." Sebastian did say his name, but if Apollo really is as drunk as he seems it's reasonable to assume he doesn't remember. After all, he's not about to start giving his true name in a bar where strangers could overhear.

"Well, LeMat, glad you made it out of the battle with most limbs remaining." Were fingers limbs? He wasn't sure. Probably knew when he was sober. Then again, lots of things were different when he was sober.

He turned to the man, looking very solemn. "Have you," he spoke gravely, "Ever been in love?"

Sebastian takes his time to think over his answer before giving a carefully measured statement: "There are people I love and have loved. Why do you ask?"

When he first went to Hogwarts and learned about his 'real' family, he'd dreamed of rebuilding their old home, finding the one perfect woman for him, and then settling in to grow old together. Now, it's not that he doesn't think it's not possible for other people, but he knows it's not right for him.

"It's complicated," he complained and then paused, reiterating, "Love is complicated, I mean. Not why I asked. Asked because I love someone and it's just terrible. Keep thinking she's going to die anytime anyone shouts 'boo' at us."

He hailed the tender for another drink. "Another of the same. And get my friend here whatever he'd like."

Sebastian considers it for a moment before getting a pint of whatever's local and the bartender recommends. There are some conversations that, by their very nature, demand liquid fortification.

"I suppose it's always a terrible thing, worse for you though, 'cause we can still pretend we're immortal."

"Shmortal," Apollo seemed to agree, nodding his head.

He pressed his finger against Sebastian's shoulder. "So how'd that happen? The not having certain body parts?"

"War. I started young." Even Malfoy admits that Sebastian started too early, but there wasn't much choice in the matter.

"The knee is made of marble, the shoulder never properly returned to human form from an owl's, the fingers were crushed, and the rest is all here and there." He could go on: extensive nerve damage from Crucius, numerous small scars from stabbings, blasts, and everything Bellatrix could manage. "Nothing too bad."

"Marble? Owl?"

Even drunk, Apollo knew that was weird.

"That sounds like the opposite of not bad," he mused. That was harsh--say something nice. "But good job with the stiff upper lip."

It might no longer be the 'done thing, but surely it's no stranger than someone turning into a tree or a flower?

"A few scrapes aside, I'm healthy and alive," he says with another bland sort of shrug. In comparison to most people who fought during the war, his physical injuries really aren't that bad. The loss of his magic is something else entirely. "In exile, but that's the way of things."

"We're all living lives of exile now, aren't we?" he asked--then, a short, humorless laugh.

He leaned in, whispering in a conspiratorial manner to Sebastian. "Here's a secret. There's never any way out. Just go from one prison to another."

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

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Slowest tagging ever.

<3

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