Varric Tethras | Dragon Age (taleweaver) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2013-05-28 23:47:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, montgomery scott, varric tethras |
You know a woman who ran a brewery an' YE NEVER INTRODUCED ME TO 'ER?
Who: Scotty and Varric
What: Talking about girls, and breweries
When: Before Varric and Nikola went looking for Helen.
Where: Scotty’s place
Status: complete
Rating: PG-13 for misbehaving
Scotty considered that he was probably pickling his liver too much, and there was no way to do a retrofit on the Enterprise, much less order parts for improvements. He would have to go planetside and find alternative ways to make any parts. It helped owning a scrapyard, though the amount of industrial and mechanical scrap he had coming in wasn’t helped by the big fat CLOSED sign on the front gate.
Once he beamed down, he dealt with the sign and opened the gate and doors. Got scrap? BRING IT ON. He also took the time to stacked up his PADD device and a couple of technical journals, hung up one magnetic PADD-based post-it note by a workbench, and sort of stood there, soaking up the silence.
Too quiet. Not noisy enough. Time for music and beer and drawing out plans. Not only was there that Mars jaunt that Jim kept mentioning, but there was also the fact he wanted to try the transporter thing, even if it was a mini-version. In all likelihood, it would have to be a mini-version first, because trying it out on living things without a modern-day equivalent of a pattern buffer that was safe for living creatures, would be bad news.
"You really should consider building some kind of ...steampunk techno thing for the front. Like industrial art," Varric said, about three seconds after walking in. He'd been growing increasingly worried about Helen, and needed a distraction. Scotty was always a good one, and he was already inspired just walking into the junkyard.
It's not a junkyard, it's a scrapyard! For scraps of things! That weren't junky!
Or at least that's how Scotty would have protested, if someone called it a junkyard to his face. He turned and nearly threw a PADD device clear across his workshop, instead shoving it behind one of the toolboxes. Good thing he caught himself, even if he found they were pretty durable, considering the 1001 places Scotty left those things when he was in Starfleet, and they managed to survive.
"I would? But ye know I'm not an artist, I'm an engineer. With a side o' relativistic physics," was Scotty's response, with a shrug. There was a smile on his face, because it was always good to see one of the short shits he seemed to be prone to hanging out with. Even if he often verbally abused artichoke alien laddie. But the way it staaaaared. Enough about that! "How goes it, short n' hairy?"
There wasn't much difference between scrap and junk if you asked Varric. Because all of it could have it's uses in the right hands, and Scotty's were the best hands of all.
"I can find you an artist, Tinker."
"Do ye mean you'll find me an actual artist, or ye think I'm artist b'cause ye think so? Because I'm aboot tae look at ye like yer stark ravin' insane." He bent at the waist to look down at Varric. "C'mon in then, laddie. Have a wee bit o' a sit doon an' lets catch up on what trubbles we've gotten intae lately. O'er drinks, o' course!"
“I can find you an artist. I’m doing okay, for the most part. I could use a drink.” He had a sour subject he needed to talk to someone about.
"As long as it's a she an' she's cute, drinky, a wee bit punchy an' temperamental...I'll agree tae it." Was he joking? He was joking. Maybe. Probably. Or probably not. Even so, he took out a bit of...what was it? It was green. And poured it into glasses for the both of them, pulled out two foldy chairs, kicked them unfolded, and grabbed their drinks. He held both drinks in his hands, waiting for Varric to get comfortable. "Sit yer arse doon, would ye? Ye look like someone rained on yer parade, by pissin' on the float!"
“I’ll find you a cute drunk girl who likes art,” Varric promised. She’d probably be a college freshman and run around barefoot in cutoff jeans with flower prints on them.
“Helen took off.”
That would effectively drive Scotty bat shit insane, because she'd probably be some hippy and she would mess up his organization and not understand a snippit of what he was talking about and be painting flowers on everything. No no, his mind would reject that mental image! He’d go bald even faster than he already was! He might even blowtorch his face off! TRAGEDY! CHAOS! DOGS AND CATS, LIVING TOGETHER!
"...bonus points if she cosplays with deadly weaponry," he heard himself blurting out, even if he knew Varric wouldn't do that. Or he thought he wouldn't. Scotty had been about to give him a stare of warning, when what was last said sank into understanding. "Och. That's yer lass, isnae it. What happened there, then? Ye have a tiff?"
“I’m not sure. She hasn’t been in the most stable mind space...and sometimes you just need to step back and let someone handle it on their own.” Varric sighed, and took a seat. “Instead of dealing with it healthily, she left. She didn’t take the dogs, though, or a couple other things that she would have taken with her if she didn’t plan on coming back.”
Scotty handed over the drink to his friend, not entirely sure what to say. What could he say? He had already fouled up his own relationship to hell and back again and regretted it, and now hearing about it...all he could do was wince in sympathy. "At least there's that? She couldae taken everything. That'd be a hint an' a half." He sighed slowly and said under his breath, "Bloody women...bein' complicated an' not wanting to fix things...."
That was followed by downing all of what felt like liquid fire from the core of the sun. He coughed and then nodded while scrunching his entire face up, like that was gooooood.
Varric snorted, and took another sip of his drink. “I half wonder if she’s expecting me to try to find her. I’m not sure I’m ready to give in just yet. It takes two to make things work.”
"Ye realize..." Scotty coughed for a moment, because afterburn. He sounded surprisingly sober and even somber, when he spoke next. "Ye realize, that I'm the absolute worst person to talk to about this shite. But if ye got to vent and let aff some steam, keep talkin'. I'm simply hopeless at these things. Ye kinna look up a diagram an' point at what's banjaxed an' repair as necessary. I found that oot, b'cause they dinna want to be fixed. An' sometimes, they dinna want to be followed when they leave, either."
And that was why he was in a scrapyard, moved away from any pubs with ‘green’ in the name of them, and living by himself. Because women = confusing as fuck. He was allergic to cats, beamed people’s pets all over the solar system, and he wasn’t into men either, so his choices of companions were pretty freakin’ limited.
Varric laughed, and reached over to club Scotty in the shoulder, lightly. "Lets not talk about womenfolk. What's been going on with you? We haven't talked like we should."
"I feel rotten, because ye probably need tae get it aff yer hairy chest an' I'm just...I’m grrrawwrrr." He clenched a fist and made a sour face. "I’m hopeless but ye dinna have t’be! I think ye'll be fine, for what it's worth. She'll be back. If she's not, then...right, let's not talk about that."
He was quiet, but only for a moment. With Scotty that only lasts if he's a.) so pissed off he can't see straight and he's feeling grudgetastical, b.) asleep (that doesn't include snoring), or c.) passed out due to alcohol or a punch to the face. Otherwise, he’s blabbering.
"It's been quiet, that's how it's been. Ye know, productive like. Plenty o' time for tinkering or making plans, or reading technical journals. An' what about yee~eew? What've ye been doing lately? Writing more?"
“Writing more. Got a few good stories going on. Taking care of Alice and the dogs isn’t as stressful as I’d thought it would be.” He didn’t think the girl would forgive Helen anytime soon and for her sake he was more pissed off about everything.
"Ye've gone an' been domesticated." Scotty was teasing but sounded a little fond, like that was nice. Varric deserved it. "That's good! I mean, if it works oot well in the end, that is? When she comes back home. I mean, not if or when, but...erm...um...ye want me tae top that aff, shorty?"
Another pour couldn't hurt. He was on a fine binger, lately. Go him!
“I don’t mind a little domestication. Just a little. There was a time there where it got to be too much...” He knew it bothered Helen. That there was a part of him that could return to that shithole Kirkwall and be happy. Mostly he missed the adventure. And the ale. He held the drink out, and announced, “I helped kill a man. Thing. Creature. Man turned thing.”
"If yer talking about the feelin' boxed in too much? Ye kinna really expect to take the us that makes us us...uhh...oot of us. Ye know what I mean. I hope." He poured more into Varric's cup and puffed his cheeks out while exhaling. He looked ready to stare off at nothing in particular, blinked, and then his eyes locked on Varric as a target. "Ye did what? When'd that happen?!"
“I know what you mean.” Varric nodded, and took a long sip. “I don’t know what he was. He kidnapped Daisy - Merrill, she’s an elf. She was also very pregnant. He attacked us. Hawke and I did our thing.”
"Oh, well. That's brilliant then! Good work, ye two, savin' the day!" That sounded rather adventurous and exciting. Scotty approved. He even gave Varric a hearty thumbs up to show it, followed by clinking their cups together. "I'm usually all well an' good with fists flying at other people's faces an' the best diplomat I know of is a fully activated phaser bank? But I've yet tae actually kill someone. In this life, at least. That I can remember. Anyhoo! Sounds like it was for a worthy cause, fuzzy wuzzy."
He patted his short n' hairy friend on the shoulder a few times.
Varric smiled, though the expression didn’t quite meet his eyes. Killing someone in your dreams, and doing it in real life? Vastly different experiences. He hoped he never became as lasse faire as he dreamt he was about it.
“It was worthy. Just hope I don’t ever have to again!” He knocked the glass back.
"I dinna blame ye, at all." Scotty smiled but he looked genuinely sympathetic. Not simply because his friend was going through so much, but because that had to be rough. "Did what ye had to. But, I mean...it's not as though I went around, looking for things to shoot up or pummel tae death? I'd much rather a friendly drink, than killing anyone or anything. Speaking o' which, ye want another?"
“At least we don’t have to worry about gangs of midgets,” Varric replied with a laugh, as he held out his glass. “Please, this is good stuff, did you make it yourself?”
Beat.
“We should open a brewery.”
Scotty poured some more and eyedarted.
"Uhhh...I dinna make this, nooooooooooo. It's from...it's...overseas, but they stopped produing it. Last of it's kind. But...did ye say a brewery?" He stopped and blinked, looking like he was mulling it over. "That's...really...nae a bad idea! We both 'ave the money for it! We’ll name a certain type after you. Short n’ stout."
Varric guffawed and then fell out of his chair. It only made him laugh harder. “I love it! Short n’ Stout! You’re brilliant when you’re drunk!”
"Noooo, m'marginally intoxicated! I've been at this for daaaaaaaaaaays," Scotty confessed, with a wee bit of pride that he was giving himself liver failure sooner rather than later. Oh well. Better to burn out than fade away! "Maybe weeks. The last month? I forget. A while, at the very least. We'll have tae find people who know how to run a brewery. I havenae the foggiest idea how, but I'll throw in the capital an' test the product."
Because product testing was incredibly important!
“I know just who to ask.” Varric decided they’d both be brilliant product testers. “We’ll have to test our own product, you’re right. In fact, you’ll be the official product tester. With our discerning pallettes, we’ll make the best damn stout in the country.”
"Who's that?" Scotty asked, looking very much like this was going to be a fantastic experience. It definitely was going to be fun to hang out with Varric again and product test, which was serious business. "I've some experience building stills." Ahem. In the engineering sections of the ship, but that was hush hush. The chief engineer wasn't going anywhere without a backup supply of liquor. "We could eventually branch oot intae the harder stuff, after Short n' Stout takes over the world. OCH! What're we gonnae name the brand?"
“An old contact of mine. One of the suppliers I had before I got rid of the bar,” Varric said, smiling fondly. “She always wanted to run a brewery, and she knows the ins and outs of the industry.”
"You know a woman who ran a brewery an' YE NEVER INTRODUCED ME TO 'ER?" Scotty went from omgyaybrewery to TEH GREAT BETRAYAL staring, in under 0.5 seconds. "Ye bearded rat bastard."
He grumbled and drank his drink like a glum faced monkey that was contemplating throwing its poo on the walls, such was his disappointment. Egads.
"She's married, and she's about eighty years old," Varric replied, holding up his hands to ward off drinks to faces.
Everything was back to normal in an instant. "Soooo, what else're we gonnae make besides stout?"
See? Like that glaring at never happened. Besties again!
“I’m hoping for something harder. Whiskey or scotch. Proper Scottish scotch.” Because he knew that would please Scotty. Scotty’s Scottish Scotch!
That name. Yes. Although there was one point that Scotty was going to bluntly point out, because that's what he does best.
"Ye cannae have proper scotch unless it's made in Scotland." Said with a note of authority and pride. "Everything else is soda pop or milk in comparison."
“What if it’s made in the US by a Scotsman,” Varric asked. “Still proper scotch?”
"No. Whisky, it is. B'cause it's improper scotch b'cause it's nae made in Scotland. It's...traitor scotch." He nodded sagely...or drunkenly...or like a drunken sage. Yes, that. "Was that brewer lady still pretty for an eighty-year-old? M'nae getting any younger as it is. Maybe I better aim for older, instead. Older, an' drinkier. With whisky n' stout."
He smiled in a sappily soused way.
“She looks like she’s hit the scotch pretty hard every day of her entire life,” Varric replied. He showed him a picture on his phone of a wizened, but spry looking old lady, who looked like she did boxing on the side.
"......." Scotty stared at it for a full minute, pursed his lips, squinted, turned his head to one side, and looked like he was seriously considering it. It was probably due to too many hours alone in engineering and too much booze that prompted him to ask, "Does she cosplay with deadly weaponry?"
Varric leaned in and whispered. “I’ve seen her cosplay as Sylvanas from World of Warcraft. Complete with plate boob bra.”
Scotty gave the photo a little toasting motion with his drink. "Then I'm takin' it under consideration."
“The breastplate hung down to her knees, Scotty.” Varric gave him an amused look. “They were eyelevel to me.”
"When ye get tae be me age an' it's been a while...ye get desperate enough tae overlook an eighty-year-old cosplayer trippin' over 'er own breastplate." He pointed a finger at Varric and got huffy. "Stop ruinin' me hopes an' dreams, ye furry faced arse!"
Varric tilted his head back and laughed, then rubbed at his chin. “Damn. I really need to shave, I hate hair on my face.”
"Yer a dwarf! With a crossbow fetish! What'd ye expect?! Let me rub it." And there goes one hand going splat against Varric's chin, followed by a rub rub rub. "Aye, ye got stubbly bits there. Yer seeeew manly."
Varric smacked at his hand. “I’m proud of my chest hair. I despise hair on my face.” He stumbled to his feet. “I need something sharp, and some cream. I have to get rid of this stubble.”
"OOOOWCH!" Scotty shook his hand out and made a sour face. "Dinna look at me! I have one o' those electric doodads, since it's simpler than that sharp things an' cream. No one uses those anymore! Why dew ye need tae dew it right now?!"
“Because I must, Scotty, because I must!!” Varric looked around, then made a beeline for Scotty’s bathroom!
"I DINNA HAVE A RAZOR IN THERE, YE DUMBARSE!" Scotty bellowed, and then gave up and sat there, drinking. If Varric left his cup anywhere nearby, and if it had even one inch of alcohol in it, Scotty was going to drink that too. Because it was abandoned and sad, and he simply can't have that. "DINNA GET YOUR HAIR EVERYWHERE! MAKE SURE YE CLEAN OOT THE DRAIN! Cannae even shave at home, what's this world come tae..." Burp.
About ten minutes and five razer cuts later, Varric came back. He looked at his cup sadly, then surmised it had all gone to a good cause, in the end.
It had, but Scotty - who only owned an electric razor - which sometimes went unused because his mind was elsewhere, was wondering where the hell Varric got a razor from!
"...serves ye right for leavin' yer drinky unattended," was all Scotty could say, from where he was slumped down, boots up on a nearby crate of spare parts, and his head tipped back so he almost missed that sad look, entirely. He also had no blurt filter, which was why he suddenly asked, "What're ye gonna deeew 'bout yer girl? Are ye gonna get 'er or let 'er be, aff wherever she is...while ye both're miserable? Brewery's only gonna covers seeeeeew much, unless ye want tae dry hump me leg an' m'gonna have tae draw lines somewhere. That'd be a line."
The more he drank, people would hope he'd quiet down. But no, it doesn't work that way. The more he drank, the more blabbedy he got.
“I don’t know yet.” Varric sat down heavily. “Probably going to go after her before too much longer.” He knew who he’d have babysit, and Scotty wasn’t at the top of that list.
That was probably a wise decision. Scotty wasn't awesome with anything small or yappy or alive, since he would (oh yes, he would) beam it to whatever place popped into his mind at any given moment, because it's more highly portable and he would want to see if it was possible.
Lost your kid? They're somewhere between here and the neutral zone that he tried to loop them to and back from. When will they return? Well, he feels guilty about it, but he can't give a definite answer. They'll pop back up eventually. Oh yeah.
But that was another story that everyone hopes won't happen, because he'll have to call Kirk to bail him out of jail and he'll just use the science defense, like he did when he particle smashed part of Texas.
"Ye know, all those times that a certain unnamed someone dinnae want me following 'er? The one time I probably shouldae done so? I lost me temper like an arse an' dinnae do it. So unless ye want that sort o' regret slammed doon on top of ye like a giant anvil with a piano and an elephant on top o' it? I think maybe, ye probably should. Then if she says GO AWAY, ye go away an' we make stout t'gether. Simple as that."
Scotty gave Varric a thumbs up, but it was about a full twelve inches to the right of Varric's point of view. It's the thought that drunkenly counts.
The dwarf nodded his head. Scott’s advice was wise and well meant. He toasted him with an invisible glass.
And he was toasted back in return, with a half-full glass! Still receiving a thumbs up with the other hand. MULTI-TASKING.