tɦɛ iɳquiรitѳʀ (freemarched) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2016-09-10 18:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, john constantine, maxwell trevelyan (the inquisitor) |
Who: Max Trevelyan & John Constantine
What: Getting completely obliterated on dwarven ale
When: Saturday night
Where: Skyhold, the Herald's Rest
Rating/Warnings: Drunk dudes and their shit talk
Status: Complete
The energy of Orange County and all of it’s ”wonders” were really starting to get to John, his fight or flight starting to make a nasty itch in the back of his neck. Badly enough in fact that he actually texted his sister to check up on her perhaps in hopes that there was a function or a funeral or birthday for his niece that he'd need to disappear to. But no, how sweet of him to check in anyways… Another week of fighting off an unwarranted attack on the principle of why he couldn't take his students abroad into uncharted territory for historical learning purposes, a few home cleansings, spirit wards, and several bottles of liquor later, he was less than hesitant to take Max up on the offer to journey to a piece of the lad’s own homeland, for what he hoped would be a timely drink that could knock even a seasoned wank like himself off his feet. “Isabela isn't angry you might take some of her customers away with this little place?” He asked, still taking in the atmosphere with bright eyes, leaning against the carved bar top. The place was not of his time, well, not this Constantine’s lifetime. There was one in just about any, a constant one to see to all of history's buggars with demons, deities and the like. So it wasn't at all surprising that John felt more at home here than he probably should have. Or it could have been the fact that they were so far away from a number of people and their bloody problems and that bloody town. The Herald’s Rest was a quaint, cozy sort of place. A place for a weary Inquisitor, his weary companions, and weary advisors to gather for a bit of rejuvenation during those dark, difficult days - it also doubled as a home, the second floor formerly Sera’s personal space. But it was no one’s now, at least for the time being. It took you back to a medieval era. And while it wasn’t quite skulls hanging from the ceiling, hay on the floor, it was close enough - definitely the dripping candles and stone arches type of ambiance. Max sort of liked bringing people up the mountain for the hike to Skyhold - it was good to get a breath of fresh air, and lose yourself in a world void of noise pollution, smog, and just general all around chatter. He chuckled, thinking fondly of Isabela. “The Hanged Man has its own charm, I think,” he said, and the lyrium-infused prosthetic arm wasn’t quite ready to go yet. But he could at least concentrate hard enough to bathe the space in a golden glow when he twisted his good hand and lit the torches attached to wooden beams supporting the upper floor. It was progress, because before he couldn’t really even do that. With his new prosthetic arm, he’d be back up to snuff the proper way. “Skyhold’s going to be more of a medieval getaway. Maybe a wedding destination? I have a friend getting married here in December already, so. It’s a work in progress.” But, oh, right - being in the tavern meant one very important thing. “Drinks?” Trevelyan offered. “We have a few barrels of dwarven ale but I have to warn you - it’s strong.” “So much for the getaway idea,” John grimaced at such a lovely opportunity for vacation tarnished at the thought of a go to wedding spot. That would be a novelty thing, wouldn’t it? It seemed as though everyone and their mum was getting married over that network. When he could be bothered to read it, that was. “Whatever you decide, it’s still quite a spectacle.” There was an urge to investigate the rise of stairs as Trevelyan lit the area further, revealing more of the olden tavern’s charms, but he stayed put. It was unique in it’s own right being so similar to a number of cultures in history, yet none at all that were documented. They were in a world of their own and Constantine only delighted in learning more about it. “That sounds fine, mate.” He let his eyes fall back to the other mage on the ground floor, casting him a sideways glance, shaking his head. “I appreciate the warning but I think I can handle it. If not, I trust you won’t let me die in a pool of me own wretch.” And if he did, oh well, it’d been a good? Decent?--entertaining run. The last thing John was concerned about was strong liquor. A fair amount of his blood had to be part liquor anyhow, the bit that wasn’t demon blood. “Don’t worry, I think the weddings are more of an occasional thing,” Max soothed, with a laugh - no one would propose to you, John, fear not. “First step is to get electricity and plumbing in here. We’re all spoiled by modern amenities - but you have to admit it is nice to not have to piss in a chamber pot.” Anyway, but yes, to the dwarven ale. He rummaged behind the bar and grabbed two mugs, heading to the kegs to pour some of that vile swill for the both of them. “Leliana once said she drank a thimble full - and then woke up a week later in Jadar wearing only her shoes and a towel. It makes you sleepy, is the thing. But should you pass out, I promise to deposit you gently into pillows.” There were some on the second floor - and Trevelyan couldn’t guarantee that, if he drank, he wouldn’t succumb to the same effects. So he’d try to keep himself sober enough. It was truly some magical stuff, dwarven ale. A dark color, but don’t be fooled - that wasn’t your typical stout. The brew tasted like dirt, probably because it was made with the stuff. Among other ingredients. Yet the aftertaste was like burning. Dirt, and burning - very pleasant. Though he hadn’t yet had to experience the poor circumstance of not having modern toiletries, but many a time faced less than desirable times in places that didn’t offer such, John couldn’t imagine it being as bad for men as it was for women. “Right. I doubt anyone would complain about running water and a loo ruining the entire medieval experience.” They’d done away with chamber pots for a reason. Bubonic plague definitely had something to do with people walking about in their own shit on the streets. What a time to be alive. “Then she had herself an adventure. Even if she can’t remember, must’ve been a good time.” Not always, when there was a man or a woman or both chasing after what you did or didn’t do some night ago because you were too pissed to remember. John picked a seat near where Max prepared the mugs, folding his arms over the table as he watched him pour. “Don’t worry about depositing me anywhere. So long as a bloody dragon doesn’t crawl out of that castle and eat us while we’re sleepy.” The taste of the ale wouldn’t bother him in the slightest. He practically ate a mouthful of cigarettes on a daily basis, wasn’t much left to tastebuds anyhow, and if they were going to be too drunk or sleepy to care, well. This wasn’t his first disco. “I’m a gentleman,” Max insisted, setting down the mugs of ale. The fingers of his prosthetic hand uncurled from around the handle, slower than the flesh and blood - but he could grip things with the artificial limb, most anything, so that had to count for something. “I wouldn’t leave you to pass out in a drunken stupor on the cold, hard floor. Or let a dragon eat you. Besides, Skyhold’s probably the safest place away from them. Though we did get attacked by a tribesman throwing farting goats at the fortress one time?” One of the weirdest parts of the Inquisition, hands down. But now to see if Trevelyan could stomach more than a thimble’s worth of ale - Dorian drank a lot of it, but Dorian was also an alcoholic with no taste, as Blackwall had once observed. “To life in the OC?” he toasted, then raised the mug to his lips for a sip. Oh, Maker, it was truly as awful as it had been before. He had the oddest desire to both spit it out and keep drinking, for more of the taste. A gentleman he was indeed. Even as John continued curl his lips in amusement, he wouldn’t be here out in the middle of Bum Fuck Skyhold with no idea on how to leave or where to go if he didn’t trust Max within reason. The idea of an attack on the fortress by way of goats was something that made John sad he didn’t see it, and also, not entirely surprised either. “Something tells me we’ll be able to handle the goat tribesman should he come back no matter how pissed we get. I just hope we at least remember that bit.” Wouldn’t that be a lovely story to remember? Taking the mug with a grateful nod, Constantine regarded the oddly colored liquid inside. Definitely pungent, but he lifted it to his lips after the toast for a bit more than a sip, and down the hatch it went. If he could have shrunk inside of himself he would have. But settled instead for squinting, inching back as if that would have made it better, and just to see, took another drink of instant regret, air puffing out of his nose. “You’re..sure this isn’t just axel grease?” At least the burning in his throat was a warm one. Nearly settling, once you got past the pain. Another shiver wracked Trevelyan’s bones, once he’d downed another mouthful of ale. “It might be medieval turpentine,” he said, whew, that was an amazing experience. Actually, what might be amazing would be if he didn’t disintegrate his liver tonight. But all in the name of manly bonding, right? “Someone once thought it was a joke, brewed by dwarves to give to surface dwellers just to laugh at them,” the Inquisitor added, and the more you tasted this swill, the more likely that seemed to be. “But if you can handle this, you can handle anything.” Words to live by - really though, the more you drank it, the better it tasted. You began to pick up on the nuances of the crafted brew. Like elderflower, which was reminiscent of a whole bunch of different fruits and a delicate sort of flavor. It didn’t hit the tastebuds until you got past the pain of the burning. “So, how are things anyway?” Max asked. “You didn’t get hit by the latest plague, did you?” “It’s a joke I would invest in making.” And how would surface dwellers know the difference? Likely this was all the dwarves had to make their ale, and if not, the perfect prank to play. Give them the hogwash and say it’s an underground cabernet. Or turpentine. “Challenge a man’s integrity and he’ll do most anything.” Especially if was all just drinking. Good ole’ liquid courage made just about anyone damn near invincible in their own mind. Like most bad habits the more he drank the better it became. So John gulped back more of foreign ale so he could do this manly bonding right. Without care or cause for worry. Right, Max had asked him question. “No plague for me just yet, though it took out a few of my students. I thought it was a rouse at first.” There were better ways to play hooky, really. “I suppose things are going as well as they can? Teaching by day, occult investigating by night.” John shrugged mildly, letting his cheek rest in his palm atop the table. He hadn’t killed anyone just yet. Dreams were still coming in fresh and odd, as were his abilities, but those only helped in what he needed to exterminate on this plane. “What about you, mate? Looks as though your new arm is of some help.” Still sober enough to deflect attention. It did seem pretty unbelievable, the whole mysterious two-day, hell-virus that ravaged a good chunk of the county. That the media outlets were theorizing about in terms of it being some other version of bird flu or swine flu or whatever else came from across the sea, and was generally unpleasant to contract. But bleeding from the eyes and throwing up blood, well, that really couldn’t be faked. Max was just glad it was over - on to the next bout of dream crossover? “It’s of some help, yes,” he agreed about his arm, flipping the robotic-looking palm over. Myoelectric mechanisms were an amazing thing, very advanced. “With the more everyday things. I still have trouble casting since we generally use our hands for that.” He supposed mages didn’t need to, however, even to grip the Staff of Corruption or the Wrath of Lovias and fight - he couldn’t do it like this. “But me and a friend are working on another prosthetic infused with lyrium, which is a substance from my dreamworld. It’s very dangerous if used wrongly, or if you’re around it too much, but it does strengthen a mage’s connection to the Fade. It also would allow me to move my arm like how I used to, using weapons and all.” That limb was about ready for a test run too - Max was anxious about it, sure, but his friends supported him. They were wanting him to succeed with it just as much. John studied the arm as Max explained, thinking on all one was really losing out when going without such a limb. It occurred to him, in the smattering of dwarven ale stupor that was slowly rising, how much a mage did need their hands. Glancing at his own he frowned, trying to account for all the spells and whatnot he could do without them. “So it’s a gamble, then.” Lyrium wasn’t something of his own world but there was a ‘lyrium’ for all the ages. A certain special boost or forbidden rite that could equally help as much as it would harm. Usually came with a fair bit of concern or disapproval too. Nothing a day to day magic user shouldn’t be used to, and Max wouldn’t receive any of the sort from John. The lad was more put together than most other magic users he’d had the pleasure of finding, Constantine hung together by threads, so he was sure the man knew what he was doing. He had no short of support by the sound of it. “Good that you’ve got the support of both modern technology and magic at your disposal, these days.” Hell, there was probably some spell somewhere that could just replace his arm entirely. But these things were never at a discount price that didn’t result in some tears or such later down the road. “Do you miss that?” He wondered allowed, motioning haphazardly towards their mugs and then the surrounding tavern. “You’ve more or less got a bit of your whole world here. Minus the obvious enjoyment of modern toiletries. Why not just stay?” “I think my boyfriend would miss Netflix,” Max chuckled, with good-natured humor. “He’s already had a set of dreams in gladiatorial arena times. I doubt he’s anxious to get back to a lack of proper cell phone towers again.” But overall, Trevelyan supposed there was some appeal in building a life up here in the solitude of the mountains, surrounded by nature’s beauty - the air was fresh, you could live off the land, and just reconnect with what really mattered. However, even if he were to settle in Skyhold, there were some key components missing. Did they need more ale for this? He could get them another stine’s worth. Cheers! “In all seriousness, it just wouldn’t feel right without the rest of the Inquisition,” Max admitted. He returned to the table with two fresh filled to the brim drinks, ale dark as a moonless night sloshing within the mugs. “They were this group of oddballs who came together, with me, they became my family. I couldn’t live here without all of them to enjoy it with me - but even so, I want to appreciate Skyhold. And turn it into something that others can appreciate too.” Hence the idea for a getaway destination. “I think there’s something for everyone here - something that appeals to them, in some way. There’s probably something that appeals to you, yeah?” Netflix. The deciding factor in keeping to modern society was cell phone towers and Netflix. Though John couldn’t really disagree when he thought he’d lay down one afternoon for a rest and then one season of Stranger Things later it’s the next day, he hasn’t eaten, and the dog really has to go to the bathroom. Now they were talking, another round starting and he hadn’t even remembered drinking all of the first. No tension on his shoulders. This is what was appealing to Constantine. “You’ve got a bit of them here though? Maybe when you turn it into..whatever it is you decide, you can get some of that nostalgia back.” He didn’t necessarily knew who of the Thedas group was part of the Inquisition and who wasn’t. But that also meant everyone would have to pitch a tent here and hitch their wagons together. Not likely to happen with so many conflicting ideologies or lives to consider. The idea of turning the whole place into a getaway for everyone, he rather liked. Because this tavern alone was worth the trip. He watched the liquid in his mug as he thought on what would appeal to him here...even though he was holding it. Ah yes, thanks for kicking in ale! “Aside from this tavern here, probably just going through the place and enjoying the environment. Should there be a library of text or artifacts you’d undoubtedly lose me in there.” There were a few of his former family here, companions who had been a part of the Inquisition. Max felt a pull to all of them, which had been strange at first but now he saw why it made sense. “We’ve got a few key players, companions and two of my advisers,” he said. Though Cullen hadn’t dreamt too much of the Inquisition yet, it seemed. Leliana was about where Max was - except he apparently surged forward, dreaming of two years after the battle with Corypheus in which the Exalted Council followed. And losing his arm (also losing Dorian, in a sense). “My...dream lover is here as well, but I can’t get him up to visit Skyhold. He keeps refusing.” Stubborn ass - really, Trevelyan didn’t understand why Dorian wouldn’t set foot in such a vital piece of the puzzle that made up their past. Though his face lit up a little (flushed as it was from the ale) at the mention of a library, as he sipped from his mug and practically melted there in his seat. Ahhhhh, now the drowsiness began. “We do have a library. The library is where he stayed,” Max continued. Well, when he wasn’t in Trevelyan’s own quarters - or out traveling. Sometimes they had to make due in tents, at campsites. “It’s beautiful, really. A lot of the books are Chantry propaganda ‘gifts,’ but there’s a lot on the various countries in Thedas. In the mage tower, there’s also a library - it’s stuffed with things like grimoires and other spellbooks, books on magic theory, things like that. I’ll show you both, sometime, if you want. It’d take you awhile to work through everything so you’d have to make the trek up the mountain a few times,” he grinned. Or find someone with teleporting abilities. “That sounds awfully awkward, mate. Sorry to hear,” John mused from behind his mug, actually thankful he was just as awful about keeping relationships in this set of life adventures as he was the last. Zatanna was a handful all on her own, to try and make sense of all of that with feelings from the dreams against what had already been made? He did not favor dear Max. Though there didn't seem to be any bother in his face. He wondered if that was due to the ale or because focusing on a single thing for too long at a time got difficult. Chuckling, John shook his head at the thought of walking up and down the mountain in any set of days just to come to sit and read or explore. “I would hope that it wouldn't be a problem but there are other ways of getting here and there. Whatever the means, I would like to see it.” And if he had to reach out to his lady friend for teleporting aid then perhaps he would. Speaking of which, “All of that knowledge on magic from your world--have you thought on joining the um...oh bollocks, the thing they have for the locals who do the magic here. You're a talented Mage. I’m sure they'd love your help. Apparently the sort we are--there's too few and far between.” The train had left the station but someone forgot to put the fire out. “Ohhhhhhh,” Trevelyan drawled, putting the ale mug down after slurping from it in a rather undignified way - his eyes were also half-closed, the lashes drooping over those coffee-colored irises. And pupils which were dilated, sloshy, black holes right now. “The Magic Guild?” A miracle he’d even remembered what it was called, but he was still...pretty much there. Enough to ensure that, should they be close to blacking out, they get to the pillows and places to rest on the second floor of the tavern. At the very least. “‘m going to make potions and brews and stuff for them,” he explained. “I have a garden here, with...Thedosian herbs. Lots of helpful things. I have kind of a green thumb.” Though when he held it up, it looked pretty flesh-toned to him. “So I don’t know about joining exactly, but. What about you, did you join?” “That’s the one,” Constantine pointed, snapping his fingers and pointing at Max as if he’d won the Price is Right. This stuff had really made it’s hit. He certainly wouldn’t complain, hard as it was to function properly, it was great to be disoriented with no fucks to give. Although at this point John was certain there was another thing he was forgetting or mixing or both. That organization that Zee wanted him to join but meh, and Max would have been good for that too, was he supposed to talk about it? Maybe the Guild was the same. No, the Guild wasn’t a government organization. Just the magic users public playground for converging and having tea parties. He couldn’t remember the name of the other one. Oh well. “Of course you do, you’re a regular gift to society Max, with your bloody garden and green thumb.” If eyerolls were an exercise John would be thicker than Batman. At least these were only the friendly sort, mixed with a teasing smile that was smooshed against both palms to support his head atop the bar. It was really cozy here. For however hard the wood and such was, the atmosphere was just..delightful. “Nah,” He muttered, making a face. “I got a tour an all but I’m not much into clubs. Though I suppose I should since it is Zatanna’s club and I already said I wouldn’t join the other one. When you put that all together it makes me sound like an arse.” He was an arse. But she was very helpful to him so maybe he could be a little more considerate. Fire and lightning, two things Max shouldn’t attempt now. He should just enjoy the ambiance and not worry about if any of the torches burned out - one false move and the whole castle would just burn down and that was not a way to respect what had once been an elven stronghold. “Who is - “ Alright, the name Zatanna was a little much for his mouth to form at the moment. Maybe keep it simple. “Who is that? With the club? What other club is there?” So confused. “And I don’t think you’re an arse - maybe a little bit, but sometimes in life you have to be. You can be a decent person without being nice.” He had a few friends like that, come to think of it. Maybe he just enjoyed being around snarky shitheads. John smirked and got lost in the very sweet words of what probably was the ale talking, but he'd take it! “See that's why I like you, you're a reasonable lad. You know what's what.” What being that being an ass didn't mean you were an ass or wanted to be but life was awful and things needed to be done a way for everyone else to get by and--it was such a bother. “Zee, the bird whose got an affinity for fish nets and top hats. Backwards magic. Dark hair, dangerous set of curves? She's the mate I have from my dreams, the other positive one.” You know, the one. In all of California. “She's runnin’ the club. I'm sure of it. And she's with some other place that looks into occult happenings that no one else does. They're hush hush and not large--but apparently more of our sort is needed.” So he felt bad about not agreeing to join it, more than he thought he did, or the ale made him feel bad, reminding him of the slight look of disappointment on her face despite her being consistently respectful of his wishes. That was quite the description, he was very impressed. “Usually I don’t say my ‘mates’ have dangerous curves,” Max snickered. “It’s like one of those dream things, isn’t it?” Oh yes, he understood. And he hoped it turned out better for John than it did for Trevelyan - in terms of connecting with the dream lover, that is. He still cared about Dorian, but it clearly wasn’t meant to be in the romantic sense - at least not in this life. And what in the name of Andraste’s granny panties was the deal with the occult happenings and the hush-hush sort of stuff? “Huh,” was what Max said about that, but it came out as part observation, part question. “Maybe if our sort is needed, you should try it out? I mean, if you get paid and you don’t have to do anything weird for an initiation...” Oh, speaking of weird. Max blinked a few times - mostly because he was looking at double of everything, what the fuck. “You want to see a trick?” “I was narrowing down the list of possibles for you, don't be a shit.” But even John was chuckling at himself. There were several better ways to describe dearest Zatanna, he just wasn't in the proper state of mind to describe much. He waved his hand dismissively, “Yes, one of those dream things.” Best not to get hung up on titles. That tended to complicate things that were already complicated. He considered what Max had to say about the nameless organization he couldn't remember, twisting his lips some as he spoke openly on what went through his mind. “I don't really trust the people but--I have this teaching job as a promise to my brother. We were supposed to both do it, before he died and it's stupid but I can't just up and quit it. I thought on it, but even though he's not there in the dream things he was here now, ya know? It's weird.” Blah blah nonsensical things to get hung up on. Oh, Constantine was a mess in any life and he needed a very big folder to sort through his rubbish. The invitation to diverge onto a trick was welcomed. “Course I do,” he perked up from the table, lifting his head and shoulders, “Give us a show.” “Well, that makes sense,” Max reached across the table, pat-pat with his good hand, but it wasn’t like he reached John’s shoulder or anything. The reassuring gesture landed somewhere on the corner. Still, it was the thought that counted. “You just do what you think is right, and what makes you content - maybe one day you’ll want to go for it at the hush-hush place but if not that’s okay too. I’m sure the one with the dangerous curves will understand.” And if not, that was a shaaaaaame. It took him a moment to gather the concentration for this trick he was about to do - but he’d been practicing, here and there, so even while his brain was scrambled eggs he was sure he could figure it out. There was less time taken, picturing the form he would take - the first time, with Morrigan, his attempts had been slow-going. Like anything else though, it just required repetition and learning. There was a sudden flash of light around him, the whole tavern aglow in that moment where Trevelyan literally disappeared - except he didn’t, he simply changed. He shifted, that burst of light sparking a white glow with a flicker of purple - the air seemed to compress and decompress, shifting with him. Then, a yowling cat. Who stuck his face in the mug of ale to see if he could lap any up this way. Awww, what a pal, Max was. It made John miss Chas, though for all purposes he was happy his mate was not here to experience everything like all others did I memories. At least he had those he was meeting, and Zee of course. Who thus far didn't pester him with questions on his crotchety reasoning for everything. Folding his arms together while he waited on his mate to show off..whatever it was he was going to show, John squinted and covered his eyes but briefly, smirking at the pudgy cat now lapping at the ale. “Fancy trick, that.” Constantine dipped his fingers into his mug to flick idle droplets of the liquid at his now feline shaped friend. “I hope you know how to get out of that one mate, I'm no shapeshifter myself.” And he was too bloody drunk to think his way into alternative options. “Who are you peering on with this special disguise?” If not snooping why else would one shapeshift? Unless you could turn into a dragon, and well, that option spoke for itself. The orange tabby (who was a little on the pudgy side, but no one suspected adorable pudgy cats who resembled Garfield to be up to anything) let out a hiiiiisssssss, as cats were wont to do when something liquid splashed onto their precious fur. Paws batted at the air and his spine arched as a ripple of a shiver overcame him - apparently Max the Cat was persnickety about being wet too, like any feline would be. Also dramatic. He paced a few times, on the table, then decided to hop in John’s lap and stretch, then those paws kneaded happily before he decided that he was maybe of sound enough mind to turn back into a human. Practicing the shapeshifting specialization was good while he was getting his lyrium-infused prosthetic sorted; it was different from his usual brand in that the magic was turned inward, rather than outward. He didn’t have to worry about pointing and shooting, so to speak - it was all in his own mind. Once he’d hopped back up onto his chair, there was another streak of what looked like lightning - then Max appeared sprawled out there, human (distinctly not pudgy), and very drowsy. That trick had taken a lot out of him. “I’m not sure, I haven’t signed up for much espionage yet, but I got my boyfriend to admit embarrassing things because he just thought he was talking to a stray cat.” It was hilarious, actually. Even if Nasir hadn’t really thought so. “Everyone wants to let it all out around Garfield.” Wow, was it time for a nap yet? “Do you think we can make it up the stairs?” he motioned, and those steps seemed so far away. Cats weren't really John's thing, though they did have a viable connection to other worldly things, he just wasn't one for animals. His friends as animals was a thing he could at least enjoy for what it was. Especially under the influence. For whatever reason, he couldn't stop imagining little cat Max fighting the demons of his time, staff and all. “It's a good look for you.” He laughed, thinking on the poor boyfriend in question. Now that would be bloody embarrassing, airing out your dirty laundry to your cat, only to find them to be a person. At least it sounded like the man had a sense of humor. John would have been angry. “Something in your pocket next time you'd like to find out some secrets. Maybe with your clients, even.” His own eyes getting fairly heavy, Constantine gauged the distance from where he sat to the wooden stairs leading upward, then back to Max. “They're not that far,” but when he pushed away from the support of the table he saw the problem. There was reality, and then there was how well his legs worked. “..maybe just the first floor.” “But where are the pillows?” Max wanted to know, since this was of dire and utmost importance. Of course, the pillows were indeed on the second floor and that required moving there - he’d try. “Alright, this can be done.” Sort of. It might take a few hours, crawling along inch by inch - passing out, and waking up again - but eventually, there would come a point when they’d reach the goal. Just with a lot of effort and forgetting that you had a name, an address, and an actual bed at home but hey. Such were the wonders of dwarven ale. |