multiversallogs | (no subject)

Who: Boromir and Ilde.
What: Boromir is on his way to a tavern for post-monster slaying ale, and ~~gets drive-by trolled~~ meets Ilde along the way.
Where: Somewhere by the Gross Tar!
When: Sukkardi (Saturday) evening.
Notes: None.
Warnings: None.

Boromir was restless. In less than a week he had been slain in battle, resurrected in the strangest city imaginable, attacked by even stranger creatures and resolutely he had battled on. But when he had finally gotten back to the Valhalla Inn on Sukkardi morning, washed and tried to get some rest, he found he could only manage a few hours. He wasn't used to a long night's sleep; he had been travelling for months on end, alert and ready at the slightest hint of danger. It was impossible to suddenly stop.

The answer was to find whatever tavern was still open and hope that a good, long drink of ale could bring him some respite.

Still unsure about his bearings, especially at night, he made his way towards the Gross Tar and followed the river.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Not during a war, she thinks, but she says: "No, I suppose that's true," with a sigh, tipping her head back for a moment to consider the ceiling through the disconcerting way the whole room spins when she does that.

"I don't know about you," he says, looking at his empty bottle, "but the music in this hall is starting to grate. I could do with less noise and clean air."

It's not strictly untrue, although the pretence is more for Ilde's benefit than his own.

Ilde's drink is empty by now, anyway, and it's probably against some kind of Gondorian code of ethics to let hammered fairies buy more alcohol, so she curls her toes against the soles of her sandals and flattens her hands on the table to use it as steadying leverage to stand. (She sways anyway, and she is going to be feeling this at home tomorrow- if she makes it home at all instead of just falling into the river to sleep it off there.)

"Okay," she says, unnecessarily at this point.

He's more or less up and there by her side when she stands, just in case gravity decides to interfere. "All right?"

It must be said at this point in time that gravity is not on Ilde's side, and she clutches his forearm for stability with only a minute hesitation. Frankly speaking, the likelihood of her walking out of here in a straight line and wholly under her own power is slim to none. (Brandy alexanders are like the song; they go down easy and get her into trouble.)

"I'm completely...fine," she assures him, in direct contradiction to the evidence.

He pats her arm, trying not to laugh. "I'm glad to know it," he says, and links their arms properly. So begins the task of carefully navigating them out of the club with Ilde remaining vertical.

There are a few near misses - she goes spinning into his side when they get bumped passing the dance-floor - and it becomes progressively more clear that just sitting and drinking is a quick path to falling over her own feet on the way out. It's better when she's moving around and sipping sparingly; she can make a whole evening out of that, dancing and all, but the alcohol hits harder when she lets herself drift.

Although they do make it out, finally. It's cool outside and the sky is darker, and industrial techno beats can slowly slip away into a bad memory. To which Boromir proclaims, "Thank the stars above for that."

Then, to Ilde, "How are you feeling?"

'Amused' is the unspoken answer, judging by how she laughs at his fervent gratitude for a lack of techno; she could've guessed how he'd feel about that, but it's worth noting that that probably played into her decision to subject him to it in the first place. Boromir vs industrial techno is an experience she feels has enriched her life and overall appreciation of this fucking city.

She's still casually using him as a tether to remaining upright, though, so let's all be grateful she's not wearing her favourite pair of heels right now. "I feel nice," she says, rising up on the balls of her feet for a moment, just because.