Beau (rivalen) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-05-11 22:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !log, rivalen beau, theodore finch |
Who: Theo & Rivalen
What: Having a drink & discussing the state of things.
Where: The Kranky Knight
When: Recent
Rating: PG13 for some swearing
Status: Complete
Theo did not feel quite up to his usual physical standard. The most recent battle (and his near death experience) had taken its toll on his body, and while the berserker was now fit enough to return to his duties and training, he had yet to ease fully into his old stringent routines. This particular evening had found him striding along down the evening streets, looking for a tavern still standing in hopes to alleviate a modicum of his current exhaustion (as well as his concerns). Many had been damaged during the fighting, but there were those that remained in business--and bustling with activity now, all of them eager to take in their competitor’s patrons. Theo shuffled into one of the more familiar establishments, the Kranky Knight, still dressed in his leather armor from the day’s work. With greatsword strapped menacingly to his back, he cut an imposing figure as he walked over to the bar counter. Striding through the sea of evening drinkers and towering over most, he grabbed an empty barstool and tried to settle himself in. Gil was exchanged and drinks were set out. Theo ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “Faram’s fucking fury,” he cursed aloud, and if anyone around him was not familiar with both the berserker and his usual habits, they may have inched away intimidated. And a few did, but the Samurai who was currently drinking (a little too much lately) found the familiar cursing man a welcome companion. He had been watching a pair of mages in the corner, trying to be inconspicuous (would have worked fine if it no one was looking too closely, but Rivalen was). What to do but grit his teeth and bear it for now? The glass beneath his fingers providing a gentle reminder of the reality of the situation. Not here and especially not in front of someone like Sir Theodore Finch. “You asshole.” Dropping his hand, he gave Theo a greeting smack on the shoulder. Theo grunted and swayed slightly with the force, offering Rivalen a quick shove back in return--a friendly hello of sorts. The samurai’s company was not unwelcome, it seemed, regardless of his current mood. Those others who had shifted out of Theo’s path were only vaguely made note of, as he moved to create a larger space for himself at the bar counter. “Where’d you come from, aye?” He shot Rivalen a sideways glance and took a strong drink from his tankard. Rivalen stumbled a little at the quick shove, laughing (it was all he did lately, everything was so fucking amusing and ironic and bitter -fuck everything).“There are not that many places left to have a drink. Saw you here, grumbling to yourself and scaring everyone, how can I resist the company?” Not to mention it had been a little while since they had been in each other’s company. It was certainly not concern for Theo, but loss of tolerable company would be very, very unwelcome. Theo scrubbed a hand through his short-cropped air, a sign of some exhaustion likely, as late as the day now was. Aye, he agreed to himself, there were lack of many businesses these days--shops destroyed or in repair. A mess for the EKP along with everything else, as the city’s current situation did nothing at all to help crime or dissuade thieves. “Always served well enough before,” he said, gesturing to the tavern around them, his tankard still in hand. He had been relieved that this particular establishment hadn’t met its end, and with it the destruction to the memories contained inside. “Doing well for yourself, aye?” He frowned and gave Rivalen his typical dour attention, looking over the current state of the other fighter as he drank. Still fucking alive, at least, and that had to count for something. “One piece and everything.” Rivalen leaned against the bar, facing the opposite way, eyes fixed on the crowd - to the untrained it could be dismissed as casual, but to a trained fighter the tension in the shoulders was evident. He was ready to draw blood at the slightest sign of something wrong, but he was not the only one on the edge after everything the last few days. By the look of the other man’s tension, Theo too cast his gaze around the room, a dark frown aimed at whatever Rivalen was focused on. There was little to note to his own eyes, however--the hound of the EKP saw little that was suspicious in terms of the law, as he, a man sworn to abide by it, would understand. “Fucking lucky, us two,” he said, with a snort that denoted that Theo perhaps thought otherwise. His own troubles, however--those most significant, were nothing he could relay to others (at least, not anymore). “Yeah, lucky us, grumps.” Rivalen shifted to grab his drink (a glass of wine that he kept sipping at delicately, as if he were plotting murder behind each drop). “My house is in pieces, but since I don’t live there, doesn’t seem worth trying to fix anything. I mean, who knows when the next bomb will drop.” The words were commented nonchalantly, but it was a gesture — to confide a little in Theo. “What about your fancy home?” Theo shifted on his stool at the words, as if someone had prodded him uncomfortably in the back. He took a long drink of his tankard, and before he was finished, hailed the bartender around for another. A day such as this, he quickly configured, ought to prescribed more than one. “Damaged property, but aye, standing yet,” he admitted, the Finch estate having been dealt a better hand than some. “Healed up myself, and ought to thank fucking Faram.” Theo let out a grave sigh, recalling his time in battle. “Never thought to battle a Sage before.” That he had lived afterward was only in thanks to Darius, a blessing if ever there was--a sign even, or so he might have liked to believe, that he still had some favor with the Lord above. “You went after the Sage?” Rivalen was giving him a look that screamed ‘you idiot’ - there was no subtlety to his judgement of Theo’s actions. “And you’re alive, standing up and everything. What is up with that? Not that I don’t want you to be standing here, scaring people and all.” He didn’t consider surviving that a small feat, and Theo didn’t seem to be missing anything. Theo gave shrug of his shoulders. He’d gone over the battle in his head numerous times--had he been quicker, more powerful, perhaps then he would have been successful, and would have saved even a fraction of the lives that had been lost. That he had failed, and lived to regret it, remained yet another burden to bear. “Aye,” he grunted into his tankard, wishing for the buzz from the alcohol to work its way through his limbs. “Healing on the field.” His gaze sunk down into his tankard. “Harder work for us, now that it’s over.” The opposite of Theo in many ways, Rivalen gave Theo a look - raised eyebrow in a mixture of amusement that could very well border on the mocking side. His lips twitched, he wanted another smoke; washing nicotine into his system to relax him. Drinks and smokes were his two vices for many years, the stress of the recent battle had caused an exponential increase in his consumption of them. “Lots of little mages to protect? Can’t blame people for being mad.” Theo set his tankard back for a moment and gave Rivalen a questioning look. But the berserker grunted out his usual sour response, however, and kept his opinions bound for once (he had enough secrets to keep). “Aye, no blame for that,” he shrugged, taking another drink once again and allowing the burdens of the day to roll off his back--all to be faced down another day, another time, for however long he had. “I know enough about anger.” Rivalen pushed himself up, clapping one hand amicably on Theo’s shoulder, “Do you?” Now that was always interesting, “As a Berserker and all, I suppose you do.” He didn’t believe Theo was a truly angry person deep down, but then that was perhaps a testament to how little Rivalen knew the other man. The mages on the table he had been watching filed out quietly, not disrupting anything as they finished their drinks and (presumably) decided to head back to their home or the Tower. Rivalen’s interest was caught, his drink forgotten. “Enjoy your drink, Sir Finch. I’m off for tonight.” And without further words Riv was slinking towards the door, movements careful and precise. |