Bronn has been hanging around fancy folk (sellsword) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-06-28 17:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, bronn, tyrion lannister |
Who: Bronn and Tyrion.
What: Catching up on some much-needed brotime.
Where: Bronn's car.
When: Backdated to June 24.
Rating: PG-13 for language.
Status: Complete!
The past week or so had been... weird. That was really the only word Bronn had to describe his employer slash friend being stuck to a kid. It seemed to be happening all over, at least, but he wasn't sure that was much of a comfort in this case. Not that he minded Mia, of course. For a kid, she was all right. Good sense of humor. But she was still a kid, and that was kind of awkward; the things he talked about weren't exactly child-friendly. Not that he really gave a fuck, but he also didn't want to go to jail for someone taking a comment out of context and winding up on the sex offender registry or something. (In retrospect, it was probably fortuitous that his employer happened to be a lawyer.)
As soon as he'd gotten the chance, after the link had broken, Bronn had texted Tyrion that they were going to the pub to drown their sorrows. After all, England had screwed the pooch in football, and this was really the only acceptable response. Now he was leaning on his car outside Tyrion's condo, just waiting.
Tyrion came down the stairs, still in slacks and a white shirt with tie. He rarely wore blue jeans, feeling they made someone of his 'stature' look ridiculous. As a rule, he tried to at least dress well, underlining that yes, he was a dwarf, but he had done damn well for himself. Getting into the car, in the front today dammit all, he had the air of a thunder cloud. "They absolutely need to sort out their offense before the Cup. That was damn embarassing."
"That was beyond embarrassing," Bronn agreed, getting into the car and starting it up, driving off towards the bar. He was dressed about as fancily as he ever cared to be: jeans and a sweatshirt. It was only when driving to 'important clients' that he wore something as spiffy as a suit, and even then it was like getting a cat to take a bath. "Told you they'd blow it. It's just asking for inevitable heartbreak, rooting for the motherland."
"Without question," Tyrion agreed, sitting back and shrugging. "Ah well. Where we off to anyway, other than hopefully somewhere to drown sorrows." He rather had liked Mia, and would look after her wellbeing to the extent he could. Those dreams obviously had been troublesome. Still, it was good to be an adult.
"What, you need specifics now?" Bronn had fully intended to just kind of... figure it out on the way. He had a number of favorite spots and if there was anything he knew, it was bars. "I'll let you decide: do you want to listen to Italians doing their celebrating, Brits crying into their beer and chips, or Americans asking why people are playing 'football' in the summer?"
"Hrm. Decisions, decisions." Tyrion put his arms behind his head, thoughtful. "Let's go with the crying Brits. By far the least onerous, wouldn't you say?"
"Depends on how drunk the Italians are." Bronn grinned, taking a turn that may or may not have been illegal. "Sobbing sad sacks it is. Might even join them for a few tearful rounds." A pause. "My tears'll be on the inside, though."
"Oh, naturally." He grinned over at Bronn. Cold as ice, certainly. Without question. The liar. "I trust you've enjoyed your time off?"
"Best ten days of my life." Lying, lying, lying. He actually liked spending time with Tyrion, but it'd ruin his 'not giving a damn' image to admit it. "Getting paid to not do much at all? That I like."
"Well, even though the entire experience is still inexplicable, at least it was a break for your milage and my liver." Tyrion frowned. "What bothers me is how now, we all act as if things are still normal. How the devil do you explain something like that?"
"Your liver didn't need the break. You're still a lightweight." He'd say 'no pun intended' but he didn't really need to. Any sort of unintentional references to Tyrion's height were just that: unintentional. Bronn didn't care about that one bit, and didn't treat him any differently from a normal person because of it. "And I guess you don't explain it. Best leave that to the scientists. Like that one friend of yours, the one with the motormouth. What was his name? Milan?"
That was one of the absolutely endearing things about Bronn. He gave absolutely zero shits about the fact that Tyrion was a dwarf. "Mordin. And he isn't any closer than anyone else. How can we ignore something so patently supernatural? And those dreams..."
"That's the one. Just call him 'Mouth', myself." Bronn shrugged, frowning slightly. "Haven't had the dreams, myself, so I can't say if they're anything close to normal dreams or not. But the connection thing... suppose it's like war. People don't like it, and can't explain it away easy, so they ignore that it happened." Yes, occasionally, even he had moments of insight. "You'd be surprised what people can wave off."
"Neither have I, but my brother has." He could give less than a shit about his father or sister. Well, his sister, at least. "And the girl recieved a quiver of arrows and bow in her room one night. I certainly didn't put it there."
"Your brother can be a bit of a drama queen." But this bow and arrow thing... that was a little worrying. "So you're saying they just appeared out of thin air? What, did you get a visit from the archery fairy?"
"It seems more reasonable than the thin air thing, but I'm being ridiculous, obviously." Tyrion threw his hands up in the air in obvious frustration. "Whatever is going on certainly seems to resist catagorization. Until I have a dream of my own, I simply must observe." He seemed to view it as inevitable.
"Unexplained things happen all the time. Only a matter of time before one of you blokes with the thousands of pounds of education figures it out. Or hell, maybe we've all gone mad." He pulled up to the bar, putting the car in park. "You're making it sound like you expect to have those strange dreams. What happens if you don't get one?"
"I suppose brutal disappointment. Don't worry, I'm ridiculously used to it." Tyrion got out of the car, walking with a slight jaunt into the pub. Ah, he had missed age-restricted places. Perhaps later they'd manage a strip club before they were both shit-faced.
"I'll have my hankie ready." Bronn remarked dryly, following along behind him. "And a bottle of whiskey."