Almalexia. (arithmeticks) wrote in emillion, |
“Well enough. Glad so many people managed to make it. Yourself included.” Ric nursed his drink and cast an assessing look at the girl beside him – it was strange seeing her in this environment, all restrained composure amidst the boisterous noise of the bar, an ocean of calm, the eye of the storm. Likely as strange as him strolling bruised and bleeding into a library once upon a time, he supposed. “How’s the drink?” He nodded to Lex’s near-untouched beer. Behind her shoulder, he saw Derrick burst into laughter and fetch a couple metal darts from the wall, where the throw had gone horrendously wide. “This?” The tone of her response was quite telling to how much thought Lex had afforded the drink thus far, and one hand slipped idly near the tankard in question. Fingers lightly touching the surface, her other hand came up to allow her to rest her chin on one palm. A studious expression, her eyes traveled over to the man sitting now beside her. Rictor seemed not at all out of place here, she thought--as if he was attempting to soak up the revelry around them bit by bit. She shrugged after a moment and turned away, but the tankard was inched slowly toward him on the table. “I’m afraid I’ve no manner with which to properly judge,” she said, noting a group of others laughing in the distance. Lex idly wondered what it was that they seemed to find humorous. “They brew beer at the monastery. And you’re saying you haven’t sampled the good friars’ wares and gotten a palate for it? That’s downright disrespectful of their hard work, Lex.” Rictor tutted in mock disappointment, but he was obviously enjoying himself – the good mood in the room was contagious, and he was stewing in it. He glanced at the tankard inching its way closer. But with a wave at one of the passing servers, the man ordered something that a few minutes later turned out to be— “Samplers,” he said, as six miniature glasses were thumped down on the table before them. “A requisite for anyone trying to gain—what’d you call it? A manner with which to properly judge. They pretty much range from ‘so dark it’s like liquid bread’ to...” Ric squinted at the last flute of pale liquid in the row, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Strawberry beer.” Lex observed the offering before her with a slight amount of trepidation. "Strawberry?" She sounded skeptical but, after taking the small glass in hand, realized that it indeed seemed to posses an oddly pinkish hue. She gave Rictor the same skeptical measure of attention, wondering to herself how reasonable any of this would truly prove to be--before raising the first drink to her lips. After a moment, she pushed the empty glass aside. "I'm uncertain if that was much of an improvement," she admitted, her palette warring with the most unusual of tastes as she warily reached for the second glass. Lex held the drink up toward the light and gave Rictor an expectant look. For all purposes, this seemed nothing more than a bizarre experiment. One that she was, rather notably, willing to humor. For the moment, at least. Ric watched her tiptoe through the assortment of glasses, and he filed away that little tidbit of knowledge for later: the best way to lure Almalexia into trying something new was, apparently, to present it like a scientific experiment. Something she could measure and quantify and test and categorise. “Never had it much myself, obviously. I’m more of a plain hops guy. Pumpkin ale’s good, though, but it’s more of a seasonal thing.” He was leaning on his elbows, occasionally taking a leisurely sip from his own tankard, but going more slowly than usual; the earlier bout with Mag had already left him slightly wobbly, and besides, he’d promised someone to be on good behaviour tonight. (He glanced across the room, to ensure that Amos was still there. He was.) “I get this isn’t exactly the most... dignified of places, though. You’re surviving?” Rictor’s smile was slightly crooked as he jerked his thumb to the side, encompassing the bar around them. |