Varric Tethras | Dragon Age (taleweaver) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-03-04 12:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, gaila, montgomery scott, varric tethras |
The gale battering at the ship was matched by the tempest in the Captain's Quarters.
Who: Varric, Scotty, Cass(Gaila), assorted NPCs of interest
What: Oh lord, where to begin...Scotty and Varric meet at the bar, Cass serves them, Varric tells a smutty story and tells Scotty about a job opportunity, they head to a con
When: Lets set this several days before the post date.
Where: Mad Dogs and Englishmen
Rating: PG-13. Though the story Varric tells might almost be R
Status: Part 1 of 2 (complete, I guess?)
The bar was one of those where everyone knew your name. Varric called it homey. Earthy. Anyone with any sense of style would call it a dive. Stark wood, low lighting and dingy paint on the walls. But the booze was fantastic and the atmosphere made the writer feel at home. It was familiar, and that's what really mattered. All it missed was a dirt floor.
That and the drink, of course. And the company. Really, for all its appearance the Mad Dogs and Englishmen was one of the better bars he frequented.
He walked beneath a sign, paint cracked and sun bleached, and through the door. Inside, as always was an assorted array of tables and chairs seemingly lifted from a half-dozen defunct restaurants. Few things matched. Nudes adorned one wall, with the largest prominately displaying the 'girlfriend of the month'. It had the same bleach blonde over inflated bimbo on it that it had fifteen years ago when he'd first walked into this bar. He was a man of higher taste, but he did so admire large pairs of chest pillows.
A group of regulars crowded at the bar raised their drinks to him as he made his way to his favorite booth. From there he could survey the surroundings, making up stories for everyone in there. Perhaps tonight he'll tell one of his raunchier ones. Those were always the most fun.
The bar had a reputation for being friendly to people of all drinking age groups. College kids drank alongside vietnam vets. Fighting often broke out, and an informal betting arrangement allowed wagers on the winners.
Any women Varric took here, were special ladies indeed. He smiled as a middle aged lesbian couple sat down nearby, and raised a bottle to them. The owner had a strict tolerance policy. Varric should know, he'd bought the place five years ago.
A story started to form in his mind, and he regailed the ladies with the bawdy tale of a pirate queen and her many sordid conquests of innocent maidens.
Into the bar slipped someone who less resembled a patron and much more a transitory vagrant. Perhaps 'slipped' might be a bad way to describe the factual stumbling through the door. He didn't even make it fully inside before it began to close on him from behind, bumping him the rest of the way into the establishment. The man turned to give it a healthy boot kick - as boot kicks were good for one's health - and to learn it a fine lesson. It wouldn't be doing that again, certainly not to him. His eyes went shifty before squinting and scanning around the room, as though searching for something or someone. Seeing Varric, he raised one hand up in the air and waved, making his way over. He also made a shooing motion at the end of waving, as though returning the favor wasn't necessary.
Montgomery Scott - 'Scotty' to his family and friends - was well into his late thirties, had a steadily receding hairline, smelled vaguely of engine oil and whiskey, and looked like he wouldn't be passing ninja school at any point in the foreseeable future. But stealth and slipping into places was simply not his style. This man was 100% Scottish, and likely the probable cause for why he turned to give the door a boot kick to learn it a lesson. Indeed, he was just about as far away from a ninja as one could possibly get. His point of origin was even more glaringly obvious, the minute he plopped down into a seat by Varric and opened his mouth to say anything.
"Awrite laddie, how ye doin'?" he asked, while shrugging off his coat so it almost slipped off arms and onto the floor. To his credit, he hadn't gawked at the lesbians, but the night was still young. Or the day. It was all a blur to him, anyway. But it was nice to see a good drinking friend, and even if he was still on the tail end of a buzz from earlier, he was going to indulge even more. Naturally.
“I see you started before you even got here, Tinker. How’s the latest project?” Varric raised a hand, summoning an attractive waitress with ample cleavage spilling out of her low cut uniform. He liked them dark, generally. Dark skinned or dark haired or both, it didn’t really matter. The woman didn’t quite meet his requirements but she was beautiful none the less. Her red hair was fetching.
He had a sudden craving for coffee, “A round of that Canadian stuff for my friend here, Irish." Settling back, the man picked up his bottle again and gave it a good swig, "As I was telling Mrs. and Mrs. Black.."
He launched into the tale again. His voice took on a casual cadence, the smirk on his lips translating into the words, bringing them to life, "The gale battering at the ship was matched by the tempest in the Captain's Quarters. Jessica's bodice was heaving, her breasts pushing up out of the corset and threatening to burst forth like some wondrous living thing. The Captain's hands, calloused from a life at sea was rough on her skin. Her lips sought port in Jessica's throat. It was like fire. Thick, burning choking fire and threatened to rip the very breath from the seamstress' lungs."
He took another drink. The ladies nearby took several.
"'I need you,' the younger woman breathed. Captain Sal ripped the corset from her lover, her hand finding safe harbor in those island mounds."
Varric chuckled, swirling his bottle around in his hands as he leaned forward, "Jessica struck first. She riped Sal's pants at the seams and her fingers explored uncharted waters for the first time. Sal was ready, the waters hotter than the Carribean in August."
His voice grew deeper, seductive, "Sal's cry was matched only by the siren moan that rumbled deep within Jessica's throat."
Scotty stared straight forward through that entire portion of the smutty story. Truly, he was glad to have any stuff that was remotely whiskey - even if it was Canadian - in front of him, and eagerly downed a generous swig. A drink was a drink, and he was not about to complain outloud about any form of liquor, that existed on the entire planet. Or solar system. Universe. Whatever. If it was alcoholic, according to a chemistry set? He was going to drink it down. And that included the stuff that was flammable.
He wasn't so grateful for the porntastical moment Jessica and Sal were having, but that was part of the nature of hanging out with short storytellers. Having listened in so far, Scotty tried clearing his throat, at least twice, to try to get his friend off the tangent. But Varric was on a roll, like eccentrics often were prone to do. Himself included. If anyone mentioned machines or fixing them, he was going to start talking about it. Since the story did NOT include machines, he sat there and rolled his eyes at the over-the-top bodice ripper. As it went on, he nodded to the nice lesbians, NOTICED they were lesbians, and then GRINNED at them as widely as possible, while waiting for a word he could get in, edgewise.
When he heard a break in the tale, he interjected immediately, "So. Dinnae ye buy the last round, last time?"
It was a good interruption. Far enough into the story that the audience was hooked. Several other pairs of ears had tuned in. He knew he could sell some books. Clearing his throat and finishing his bottle, he inclined his head towards the couple, "If you'll leave me your address, I'll see about getting you advance copies of the full novel." His eyes twinkled, "Autographed."
The women looked at each other, then the blonde one quickly scrawled out their address. Varric picked it up and tucked it into his shirt, past soft red chest hair, "Wonderful. I'll see if I have a copy of Captain Sal's first novel and send it your way. No charge for such lovely listeners."
He watched as the smiling ladies paid their bill and headed out, "Yes, I did buy last time. You can buy next time." Varric had said that last time too. And the time before that, and the time before that and the time before that.
"They're gay you know," Cass swung by, depositing some more drinks.
"I wasn't aware." Varric infused his voice with pure dry sarcasm.
"Well I mean you aren't going to get any sort of Tethras sandwich with them. No chance. Not a one. I don't know why you bother putting on the charm."
She tucked some of her strawberry blonde hair behind one ear and regarded him intently before speeding out of the range of the Scotsman before he could be his usual charming self. Fucking Scottish cockblock. His very presence ruined her plans.
Varric shrugged, only mildly aware of Cass' plans. He liked to be friendly, and his charm had been purely that of a bard and storyteller. His love belonged elsewhere, with his family flintlock.
"Anyway have another drink, Tinker, and tell me of your latest mad schemes."
Cockblock? He wasn't even registering anything more than lesbians at the moment, other than the grin fading so he could giving the waitress a strange stare and a hint of a scowl. The overall expression was like he was saying she wasn't possibly a lesbian, and therefore - until she claimed she was into some girl on girl action (and letting him watch) - he was only 0.0005% interested in her. That was mostly because she was a rude woman to him before and he didn't forget a slight. Her only source of bonus points was that she hadn't spit in any of his food or drinks, thus far.
There was still time for him to revoke those and not be quite so gentlemanly. And he COULD be a gentleman, with the right woman, it was just that most of the time he was too busy thinking of every engine he'd ever put together and how to make it go faster...and to him, they didn't talk back, they didn't ask for money, they didn't give him hell for drinking too much now and again...and thus machines equaled out to be better than women! MATH: IT WINS AT EVERYTHING!
But, where were they? Ah, yes, he remembered as he was downing another swig of whiskey, precisely what their last conversation was about.
"I think," he drunkenly mused, aloud, "it was sometimes b'fore when we were talking over Victorian robotery, an' arrows or darts launching out of their eyeholes. Which, by t'by, s'totally plausible."
He gave a little toast of his glass as though to toast the mere concept. He was well on his way to re-achieving his buzz again, but that was completely normal as of late. And he was also fine telling his short friend his ideas and schematical schemes, as long as his short friend didn't climb up on the table or bar, because top on his list of things that irked him for absolutely no good reason, was people climbing on things. Especially things he was working on. It was a safety hazard! And they might get their blood on his darlings, and that would require a full cleaning, should such things go drastically and terribly wrong.
"I'd also invite ye over tae see me latest car," Scotty said with a note of pride, "but ye might climb up on it an' I'd have tae yell a lot so you'd get down."
Cass didn't hold a very high opinion of Scotty. She disliked mechanics in general having dated several and Scotty was like a mechanic writ large. The fact that he'd once compared her rear end with one of his machines hadn't helped. It didn't matter that it had been a favorable comparison - Varric couldn't even convince her of that.
Varric..Varric was like the sun shining through the clouds. He made her smile again. She disappeared into the kitchen to get an order, ignoring the ribbing from the cook she got whenever she spent too much time at Varric's table.
"It's plausible, but its not practical. You need these things to not only function but function well. A well oiled machine should function as though its, well, well oiled. Not explode into a thousand deadly fragments."
The man ordered a sandwich, hold the lesbians, " You've certainly made my life interesting since we met. What's next, robots?"
And he wasn’t that short!
He had said her arse was like 'the nice tight boot of a race car' which was a high compliment, he thought. It wasn't his fault she'd dated mechanics before and they weren't at all as eloquent as he was! As for making life interesting? Scotty only rolled his eyes as though humoring Varric, and made short work of the rest of the whiskey in his glass. He plonked the empty glass down so hard that it made a very loud thunk against the table. Then he cleared his throat from the whiskey going down, and said like he was making a grand announcement, "M'gonnae build a robot."
Of course, that had only just now occurred to him, that it was a great thing to do. His first love was all things motorized that people could ride in: cars, planes, trains, and boats. But a robot? He'd never accomplished such a feat, and if it was big enough, then he could ride on it's back! Brilliant!
Cass swung out, bringing a sandwhich and another glass to Varric's table. She ignored Scotty, leaning forward to smile at Varric with her forward phasers on full power. The writer smiled back, toasting her with a wink, then turned back to his friend.
"What sort of robot? Like those combat competitions?" Knowing Scotty, it would be something big. Something big, and dangerous and mostly impossible.
"You know, I read on a message board that someone was interested in paying for one for going after prizes." He'd been pulled in by an unrelated google search and gotten caught up in reading a massive troll thread by someone calling themselves Subj3ctZer0. It totalled three hundred pages before the moderator was able to lock it.
He leaned forward, pulling out a notebook. His nose sensed a possible story.
Ugh, a troll thread. Scotty wrinkled his nose up a little bit. He'd gone on the internet a few times to disprove about a billion engineering theories, and done his fair share of trolling himself. Mostly this was due to the fact that no one knew what they were talking about or how feasible it was to actually fabricate. But that was when his phone was working, and it currently was out of minutes as well as on the fritz. The only things he charged it up for was for snapping pictures of things he thought were interesting. But that was when it was working. In the days before he dropped it under a tow trailer as it was backing a chassis up into the garage space, and that time it landed in a public toilet. A quick rinsing off in the sink never hurt nothing. He really should get a new touchscreen phone at some point, but there were always much larger matters to consider.
Matters such as why that Subject Zero screenname sounded familiar? He was pretty sure his handle had been Ki$$MiAr$e but it had been so long since he'd typed out a LULZ at anyone on any forum, that he couldn't be too sure. Prize money was nice, but that was if his creations could hold up to a competition. They tended to be much bigger and grander in his head, than anything he could actually fabricate in reality.
"Three hundred pages. Really." Scotty had tapped his glass on the table for a refill but the waitress had ignored him. The only tip she was getting right now, was an incredulous stare of 'what the hell did I do?' That was before he continued on, with grand plan #4892823892.
"I think," Scotty said, trying to ignore the slight and banging the glass down on the table a little louder, "s'gonna have theeze great blooooody huge arms, with spikes, an' fire...so I'll need some propane...."
Varric set down his pen, "Sometimes, I don't even need to embellish with you."
Varric subtely gestured for the waitress to bring another sammich and a refill for Scotty. She gave him a dry look, cleaning one nail with a butter knife. He glanced at Scotty, turning over a few thoughts in his mind. Something like this could be beneficial for the man, he thought. Beyond the cons and machines in his garage that couldn't meet the standards of his genius. They had a con to get too later, actually, but for now he was content to sit and plot.
There was just the matter of manipulating things so Scotty thought it was his idea and that it wasn't charity.
"Its the moderator. She calls herself Excalibur. Runs a blog about cricket as well as those robot forums."
He wondered what her day job was - her moderation skills were decent but she seemed to be too busy to keep up, "If you want we could use my computer to send her videos of your work. The ones that haven't exploded, anyway." He paused, "well there was that one explosion, if you could replicate it could be weaponized."
"Can I replicate it?" Scotty repeated, followed by a clipped laugh, like he could replicate anything that involved combustibles. He nodded in thanks for the sandwich and would likely be complaining in the next half an hour that his stomach was eating itself from the inside out, from lack of food. This didn't sound like a bad idea the more he thought on it, and they did need funding. This was the longest he'd been in one place, without moving on to the next convention and catastrophes involving the fire department. He was starting to think people simply showed up for the explosions. That thought, right there, made his eyes go into a beady squint that looked like it could crush his eyeballs into the size of two dehydrated peas, if he kept it up.
"Aye, I could do that," was all Scotty was saying like he was talking to himself, taking another swig of whiskey and a huge bite out of the sandwich. He chewed and, because he was thinking at the same time, began talking at the same time. Sandwich in one hand and the other gesturing as he spoke. "I could make it have these giant metal melon breasts, like so..."
His free hand made a claw fingered grabbing motion to show the intended size.
"With springs innae'm!" Now he was just getting excited at the prospects his brain was spitting out, at a trillion kilometers a second. "So when she walks, they'll bounce, like..." He mimicked a boing boing motion with that hand, and took a huge bite again, so that everything else he said was being lost in a wad of bread, cheese, and meat. Whatever it was? It sounded important!
"Oh lord," Varric breathed, sitting back and letting Scotty have a braingasm all over him. When the man got started like this there was no shutting him up. At least he'd inspired several characters in his novels. Like the hopelessly women-inept quartermaster Doohan on Captain Sal's ship. Or the clever if shockingly insane tinkerer Spegg in the Steampunk bestseller Angel Dust.
He ate his sandwhich slowly, as to give the man time to rant and rave about his mostly crazed ideas. When Scotty took a breath, he interjected quickly, "Why don't we get specifications from her then you can run several designs past her? That okay, Tinker? Its not like you’re going to have sex with it."
Varric just prayed Scotty wasn't building a sexbot. Ooh. He wrote that down with the note to explore the idea later. He'd probably have the first chapter done before Scotty finished talking.
It was a very bad thing that when his short bromance buddy mentioned sex plus his beautiful creations. Scotty choked and had to spit out his bite of precious food onto the table, or risk inhaling it and needing the Heimlich maneuver. He shook his head like there were earwigs in his ears and he couldn't hear anything correctly.
"YE SICK OR SOMMAT?! Nae one's touchin' me metal robot goddess like that! She's a perfect bonnie lass, she is! What's gone wrong with yer head?" He scoffed like that was the single most offensive thing he'd ever heard in his entire life, and his mental vision of robot beauty was weeping big oily tears of sorrow to be spoken of in such an unkind way. He had also 'stealthily' used that loud scoff to cover up the fact that he was trying to hide the sandwich glob by smushing it under his plate, so Miss Pissy Knickers would have to clean up the mess. He made sure to press his hand down on top of it, just for good measure! Then he took a drink, appearing to calm down much more - to something that was almost contemplative, so thinky did he look in those scant seconds following his outburst. "Dunnae think she needs a big metal vagina also, do ye? Anatomically correct?"
The creator falls in love with her robot maiden.... No, no that's been done to death. What if the robot somehow created the human? Now that had potential. Varric chuckled at his own thoughts, still letting his friend get his temper off. He set his quill down - quill? He looked at his pen like it was a snake. But it was just a pen. Not a quill.
Varric nearly choked on his drink, "Can you even design one, I'm not entirely sure you've experienced a real one before."
"What'f I'd made her a metal laddie robot. With a top hat an' anatomically correct...an'...I 'EARD THAT! ARSE! I KNOW HOW IT WORKS!" He leaned away and stared at Varric like he couldn't believe he just said that. Maybe he said that a little too defensively and it wasn't intended, because he was not just some clueless grease monkey, after all. He eye-darted and snuck a quick drink, before grumbling under his breath about something that sounded like 'rocket pack' and 'bronze-look plating.' He knew he could make it work, somehow, to some degree. Something most fools who spouted that they could do it, just simply could not even manage to get past the planning stage.
Laughing, Varric started to cough and it took him several minutes to bring it under control. Scotty was too easy to tease. He held up a hand, coughing out, "Methinks I detect over defensiveness, my friend."
Then he started to write up a storm as though he? Had become inspired!
"Ye dinnae detect nothin' out o' sorts, that's for certain." It was a very self-assured statement, like it meant there should be no further questions on the matter. He was already back to dreaming and scheming again. "Steam combustion engine...with 'nough pressure on those valves, and letting off pressure to build up again....then, aye, that'd work. That would. Aye, I need a pencil."
"Function over form or form over function, Tinker?" He knows the scotsman likes things to be sexy as well as work. He knows his friend is capable of so much more. There are times when he gets as frustrated as Scotty.
"Genius or madness, its just out of reach."
“Never know, unless one tries!” Scotty dug into his jacket pocket for a pencil nub. He was about to draw the most drunken retarded robot on the tabletop, ever in the existence of drunken drawn robots on tabletops. "Nae, I like form too, she's got tae be a looker...are ye sketching it with yer notes?"
"Feels like sometimes you were born a few centuries too early. And me a few centuries too late." Varric put down his pen again, and sipped at his beer.
"Just writing some plot ideas. Never know when inspiration hits and you my friend are inspiration on overdrive. Alas I can't draw."
He settled back in the booth, watching Scotty produce the second most drunken retarded robot on a tabletop he'd ever seen. He was impressed, the spoiler was a nice touch. He figured he was being trolled.
Being trolled? Possibly. Because it was a very retarded looking robot and it wasn't even a schematic, which he could draw up in his sleep, whilst blindfolded. This was anime bubblegum huge and on the verge of looking like Sailor Moon Gundam, only slightly more deadlier and with a steampunk corset type thing so the metal melon boobs were pushed way up and way out.
Scotty leaned over and shrugged with one shoulder at the notes, like that was all well and good. He is a man on a mission. A mission to bring robot justice to earth, with big punchy robo fists!
"You should get into art." Varric tapped the drawing, "You're anatomy isn't half bad, here. Sure if she was a real woman she'd snap in half at the waste, but that's okay, she's a robot."
In fact, it looked oddly familiar. Varric wondered aloud if there was an anime like this. The Big O or something like that.
"...'ere, let me have another go," said Scotty, thickening the waist a bit more with some support beams made to look like more bones in the corset framework. He was thinking of a few anime shows while drawing, but trying to make it look more his own with each stroke of the pencil. "This reminds me of that one wit' that giant robo an' them ridin' about in it's giant robo skull. Remember that one? Ha ha!"
“That was a pretty good one,” Varric had to concede. The longer Scotty drew, the more it seemed like the picture became something tangible. He shook his head - it was impossible to pull off. There wasn’t metalwork capable of being light and strong enough.
"Punted the bad guys off into the sea. Burning ship with gold innae or...or wait, that was a different one. No, nae the Big O. Pity’s sake. That's inferior an' we know it." Or so Scotty was saying as he was drawing, like he was considering some new concept that just sprang to life inside his skull.
"Though it did have those nice rocket punch piston fists." He took one swipe like he was sucker punching an invisible opponent, making a 'kapow!' sound at the same time. He stopped and had a huge grin of excitement. "Right sexy, that was! Note tae self. Piston punchy fists? Brilliant."
“I was thinking more like the android. Human like, female. Had the disc drive in her forehead.” Varric had found that part the most interesting part of the show. He wasn’t the largest anime fan - he tended towards high fantasy, dark fantasy and historical fantasy with a smattering of science fiction. And steampunk, of course. But Scotty could be a persistant bugger and had made Varric sit down to watch more than one of Japan’s many cartoons involving impossibly sized destructive robots.
“...eh?” was the only thing Scotty could come up with, as he stared blankly at Varric. Did not compute! More information, please!
“The maid? Sounded kind of monotone, was a major plot point?”
Scotty continued to stare over at Varric like none of that registered. The reason why it would not register enough to even be remotely imprinted into his incredibly vast and bump-ridden brain, was because it was not any of the following: a.) huge b.) giant c.) robotical d.) machinery
It also did not have obvious power sources and cables, most likely, and so wasn’t worthy of being remembered. So naturally, given those circumstances, he wasn’t going to want to do one of two things: either ride in it, or tear it apart so he can put it back together again. To prove just how much of a blank slate he was, while trying to remember this mysterious robot maid, someone opened the door to the bar and a slightly blitzed Scotty appeared to waver slightly as he sat there, like some tiny little wisp of a breeze had been enough to move him.
After another full minute passed, he asked in a genuinely inquisitive way, "There was a maid? Really?"
“Never mind.” Varric wasn't sure how he could fail to remember a girl with a cd-drive in her skull and wires when you opened her up, but he wasn't about to ask. He rubbed his face, "Why did I think hanging out with you was a good idea?"
"Where was I? Piston fists? I could doo that!" A sharp shrug was initially given in response to Varric's question and he continued to make air jabs at a unseen foe. He was otherwise involved and looked as though he couldn’t be bothered to answer yet. After a final ‘ka-blam!’ that sounded - and looked - as though a right punch had deftly flattened a nose, Scotty finally appeared ready to answer.
"Because it was a brilliant idea and there was a free sandwich buffet," was Scotty’s ultimate answer, his tone being almost comically indignant, and his nose tilted up in the air to give him an air of mildly irritable authority. "Dunnae ye remember that bit? California. Girls. Bikinis. With cat face paint, I'd pointed out, hate tae be the one tae remind ye...but that's how I remember it goin'."
Shaking his head, Varric laughed, “There was that one that was skateboarding around and moving like she had a vibrator up her bikini! That reminds me of something that ....nevermind.” Varric wasn’t sure what he was reminded of, or who. Disregarding the notion, he slipped his notebook back into his jacket pocket. Because he liked to wear suits. Don’t ask.
"Was she blond?" The irritable expression had faded away and turned into a squint, as though he was trying to recall a very vague memory. "Or am I thinking of that girl from Big O, the one with the angel wings of the likes. Or, whatever. Must be. Any rate, need a few couplings an' at least one large metal bin, an' a new welding torch. An' a sandwich, because m'famished."
Yes, he'd since polished off one and was ready for another. It was important to manage one's time so that the act of eating was one where food was shoveled in all at once, and not worried about during tinkering hours. It was pretty typical of Scotty to forget to eat sometimes, and then be about ready to consume any unlucky wild animals he came across, dispatching them with a punch to the face and a few well-aimed kicks. Or just fast food, because that worked too. Whichever. It wasn't as important as the fact he needed a second sandwich right now, AND then building materials. Ahem?
"Redhead," Varric replied. She looked like someone who could probably kick their asses if they looked at her wrong. Which considering the state of her bikini and the way she skateboarded probably accounted for the way most people looked at her. The fact that her knuckles looked bruised was enough to make even Varric wary. He'd hit on her regardless. They'd even gone on a date. They'd ended up going home separately: Each with one half of a pair of Swedish twins.
"We're not vandalizing the homeless shelter again." Once was bad enough, even if it had been an accident and Varric had paid for repairs. It was unnecessary. And not in a particularly entertaining level of unnecessary.
He hadn't been there for anything involving swedish twins, so he was blissfully unaware. If he had any sense, he'd kick himself and had wished he HAD been there, but alas, there is something else on his mind. Scotty was in mid-hailing of the pissy waitress to get her attention, and not getting much reaction.
"Waitress? Lassie? Sandwich?" He pointed in front of him, like that is where the sandwich should go. It belonged there. It should be constructed and placed nicely before him, so that he could pick it up and shove it in his mouth, thus serving it's divine purpose in the universe. Well, he was pointing, until he realized he was being told not to do something else. Mainly something to do with homeless shelters. Which was all of one time! Time to lodge a protest and look thoroughly appalled while doing so. "That wasn't vandalizing! It was selective borrowin' of much needed components. I said we'd return them when we were finished, dinnae I?"
There was the inevitable explosion that kept that return policy from being fulfilled. Scotty scowled darkly as he stared straight ahead, as though he was steadfastly sticking to his guns about borrowing things. No mention of explosions. It was a dark day. Even so, the concussion was still worth it.
Cass leveled a gaze on Scotty, and slowly, deliberately picked up a butter knife and started cleaning under her nails in the universal 'waitress is ignoring u nao' action. Scotty would get a sandwich, she just had to make sure the lettuce was thoroughly wilted first. The Scotsman would pay for being in the way of much sought after nookie of the long-term crush variety. She wanted to run her fingers through Varric's soft chest hair and scritch at him like he was an overgrown cat. She wanted to make him purr. She wanted to inspire the lewdest most intensely hot sex scenes for his books.
Her eyes had taken on a slightly glassy gleam and the smile on her lips was distant and dreamy.
Oblivious to his waitress' fantasies, Varric tried to head off a potential disaster in the making, "No more homeless shelters,they have enough problems as it is. Why don't you call around scrap yards. If we have to we can ship things in from Nevada or Arizona. At least lets rob someone who deserves it."
Ignoring him? Sandwich denied?! Scotty was giving the waitress a pointed look of indignant outrage, because it was obvious he was just meant to sit there and slowly starve to death. His eyes were honed in on the butter knife and one eyebrow had a developed a little tremor in it, like he was a rumbling volcano on the verge of explosion. He scrunched up his entire face, and instead of yelling at the woman - who for some odd reason was getting paid to stand there daydreaming instead of doing her job - he chose to raise his voice about the other pressing matter in his life.
"Ye know all the good things've got alarms an' bells an' whistles attached tae them! Not tae mention, police? Get bent! Am nae ending up behind bars a third time, I'll tell ye straight out!" He folded his arms for a moment and grumbled under his breath, "I need copper wire, if the crack heads have nae stolen it all...or borrowed it. That's right, BORROWED."
Scotty went shifty eyed and swiftly tried to get the last drop of the whiskey that was left in the glass, into his mouth. Now he had no drink and no food. Universal implosion, his mind was telling him, was imminent.
He could starve to death and she wouldn't particularly notice. Or care, except as to how it could lead to consumation of the fiery passion that she and Varric surely shared.
"There was a second time?" Varric couldn't for the life of him remember anything but the first time, but it could have been before they'd met. He had no problem hanging out with convicted felons as long as their crimes weren't of the killing or special victims kind.
"You're full of surprises, aren't you."
"So, about that sandwich!" Scotty held up one hand like he was raising it from the back of the physics class, and pointing out an teacher’s error that needed fixing asap. Surely she'd notice THIS. It was pretty obvious. It also meant that he could refrain from making the shifty-eyed face of wanting to avoid further questions about trouble with the po-po. If he got into real trouble again, they'd probably try to send him to a prison in Siberia. He went with the first offense that his brain could spit out as soon as possible, "Drunk an’ disorderly conduct? You've a problem with that?"
By that point, he was shoving his hand in the air. If he'd been making a fist, it would've been a concert-worthy fist pump.
"You're always drunk and disorderly," Varric retorted good naturedly. "That's your natural state of being, you're more likely to be arrested for being stone cold sober." He'd pay for that. In fact, he once had as a birthday joke.
Over at the bar, Cass was serving several people who'd just come in. She was her usual friendly self, even as she gave Scotty a remote cold shoulder. She checked on the lettuce. Almost wilted enough!
Varric noticed the exchange and shook his head, "Irish! Another Guiness and a sandwhich with the works. Hold the wilted lettuce. Maybe if he's eating he'll shut up so I can hear your lovely voice."
Cass started, then frowned in their direction. Then her frown turned into a bright beaming smile and she worked to make the Best. Sandwhich. Ever.
If she didn't hurry, then the lettuce would be like chewing on a layer of room temperature saran wrap! He was practically bouncing in his chair while saying "Service 'ere is rotten" repeatedly under his breath, but abruptly stopped all movement in progress and stared aghast at Varric, instead. No way was he going to be called rude, and besides and beyond that, he had to divert from ever divulging that he was stone cold sober during that second arrest, as well as involved with Very Dangerous Things(tm)!
"RUDE?" He kept staring at Varric, then at the waitress to see if she'd moved her ass yet, then back at Varric again. "Ye CAN get bent! I'd been about tae rip me own arm off an' throw it right at 'er before I starved tae death!"
Varric held up a finger, "If you'll be quiet, TInker, I'll finally let you hold Bianca." He referred to, of course, the flintlock for his Steampunk costume. It looked elegant and he imbued it with it's own personality. It looked as well taken care of as the day it was first made, even though it was several hundred years old.
Cass came by, depositing the drink and a hero sandwhich the likes of which would make Shaggy and Scooby have an anyrism. Varric looked impressed. Cass decided that maybe if she was polite to Scotty that would earn points.
"If you want anything else, simply ask." She said, before heading back to the bar to assist another customer.
True, Scotty had his mouth open to protest being told to be quiet, but it snapped shut and his eyebrows raised WAY up. Both at the super omega huge sandwich and the mention of the girl. The girl who was not the waitress, though she just earned a single bonus point and was well on her way to earning a few more if she kept up that sort of service. She brought him a drink, also! Well, hopefully she didn't spit in either things. He lifted up one corner of the bread with a fingertip and peeked at it, just to make sure. All that was done while idly asking, "Which one was Bianca, again?"
Cass never spit in anything. It was a health hazard and the kitchen was a sty as it was and barely passed inspection!
"Bianca is my gun. A very special lady indeed." Varric said, proudly. "She’s been in my family for generations. I've shown you her before, remember? I had her when we first met. I accidentally shot you while demonstrating the mechanics."
Varric’s Kitchen desparately needed Robert Irvine’s help.
Yes. Yes, it sounds like it could use his help.
"Oh no, nae the cos play weaponry again. Is that it?" He stared, first at the slightly suspect waitress and then squarely at Varric. He could care less about if the kitchen was clean or dirty, just the spit factor. Was there spit in it? Wasn't there? Well, he didn't ever finish his check. He simply took a very big drink of very hard liquor and a gigantor bite of the sandwich. He had, after all, eaten nuked mac and cheese out of a hubcap before. Long story. "It is, isnae it. You, lad, are as bad as I am."
"Yes." But Bianca really did work. "She works better than half your contraptions! She’s a real gun, with real history! My many greats grandfather shot redcoats with her."
It just so happened that he was demonstrating the gun at a convention when Scotty had stumbled into the carefully set aside firing area and ended up with a ball pellet embedded in his pasty Scottish arse. At full powder no less!
Cass looked mildly horrified at the way the tinkerer scarfed down the sandwich. Varric waved a hand at her, "He grew up in a barn with dogs."
All that was left on the plate, was a lonely crumb of bread. It looked like it would die from being left in such sad solitude, but it didn't have to worry for too much longer. Scotty lifted the plate up, stuck his tongue to it so the crumb adhered, and plonked the plate down while savoring the now deceased tidbit.
"Maybe I did grow up with dogs. But this fellow nabbed the dogs an' shagged them until they died, birthing tinier, hairier versions of 'imself." It was said deadpan, with a serious expression, because no way did Scotty ever forget being shot in his incredibly pasty-hued Scottish buttcheek. That had HURT. He turned his head slowly to "Another thing? Is that we'd all know more about 'er, if ye'd let us touch 'er an' try things out, ourselves. All we've got tae go by, is word of mouth!"
Someone at the next table wondered who 'her' was and why she'd let him share her and try her out in anyway. Fucking swingers. Downfall of this country!
Varric just shook his head goodnaturedly, "When she's fully ready, then you can see, but not before then." He was fairly sure he'd never have the skill to perfect her, but that was no matter.
Cass swung by, depositing another sandwich and pair of beers. The place and glasses slid into place in front of each man with expert precision, not even spilling a drop.
"That's the last one Sunshine. We have places to be."
Fidgeting, Cass brushed hair out of her face again, "Got any..uhm.. plans for later tonight?"
"Well I do need a pretty thing for my next novel. Set in Madripoor. I could use the inspiration."
"I can be very inspiring," Cass replied with a devilish grin.
It didn't take much to momentarily shut him up. That right there did the job, and the minute he heard 'novel' come out of his friend's mouth, Scotty’s eyes rolled and he nodded like he's going to be hearing more story smut again. Not that he minded TOO much, because it's smut. Or, sorry, ‘fantasy romance.’ The only thing he was a hundred percent certain of, was that every story needed more machinery.
“Well then,” Varric said. “Why don’t you give me your number, in case something comes up and I can’t make it. Otherwise I should be back by nine.”
"Well, I'm nae having to wear a dress an' posing for noffin' this time," Scotty was saying around a mouthful of food, so distracted was he by food that he had only half heard what was being said and felt compelled to respond. He swallowed so quickly that it sounded painful, eliciting a bit of a wince in response. "AT LEAST PAY ME THIS TIME? I need new googles."
He promptly went back to polishing off the last of the sandwich, unaware of how odd that probably sounded.
Varric had meant Cass, but she'd already bounced excitedly out of earshot. Which was for the best, he didn't want to have to explain why he'd had Scotty in a dress. It was for "Sea Wench" when Quartermaster Doohan had been forced to cross-dress to fool an enemy ship. Varric had needed an illustration for that part, because the mental image had tickled his fancy so much.
"If you're good, Tinker, we'll see if they have any decent goggles at the con." He shook his head and added, "You're hell on my sex life, by the way."
“What’d I dae nooo~oowb?” Again, with his mouth full. Food. It was srs bizznus.
“Ran off the waitress.”
"I dinnae run her off." He managed to get that out, between bites. Scotty's eyes went shifty again and he practically tried to inhale the rest of the poor sandwich, so he isn't incriminating himself further by shooting his mouth off some more. It's like he doesn't know what's being implied here. He's innocent. Sure, he didn't have the best track record with women. But it certainly wasn't the worst, either. Ahem! He can be woman bane, sometimes.
Varric was discovering the woman bane that was Scotty. He didn't always mind, though he'd be disappointed if he had to call it off tonight. For all that he enjoyed sex he sure could take it or leave it at times.
"You ran her off. No matter. Down and out waitresses are so cliche." Varric rubbed his chin, "Although, down and out waitresses finding forbidden love with each other in the walk in freezer..."
It was just the one time and Cass was drunk and they nearly froze their asses off, and anyway she was only experimenting and can't read minds anyway.
"Dunnae go there...dunnae do it..." He eyed Varric warily while eating, swallowed, and washed it all down with beer, sweet beer. That was followed by a little cough, just to clear his throat and make sure he was heard. "Ye're gonnae tgo there. Ye are. Why've ye got t'go there? They'll freeze their arses off! Nae one wants frostbite on their arse!"
"They'll keep themselves warm," Varric interjected. "Besides its a story, it doesn't have to be too realistic.”
"Only the parts that're rubbing! Nae the parts that're hanging out, like their arses?" He raised his eyebrows like 'hellooooo? cold stuff there!' and whistled long and low, like those would be some exceptionally cold buns.
“Next, you'll tell me I shouldn't write about some guy transporting himself halfway across the galaxy because it's impossible!” Varric threw up his hands in mock disbelief.
"That's possible," Scotty said while pointing back at his friend, like it was a very important thing which should be taken into account. "Well, nae across the galaxy, say...more like, if ye took a grapefruit about yea big?" He held out a hand to show the size. "Theoretically, ye could move it from 'ere to Mars, I'd bet. Just a simple transference of particles changed to energy an' shot toward a pinpoint coordinate, at a place to rebuild the particles back intae a grapefruit again. They've got it in textbooks. Ye should read them. Very enlightening! Makes ye brain bigger, more than reading smut does."
Leaning back a little, Scotty grinned like he was well pleased with himself.
“What you described there,” Varric got to his feet, intending on continuing this conversation on foot. ”Is basically magic.”
"No, nae magic. Science. SCI-ence. It's that stuff that involves batteries an' lasers an' molecules an' things that can be explained with numbers. Are we realy gonnae have this debate all over again, laddie? They say in Russia, they can teleport a cow. No shite, a whole cow. Sure, it was bloody afterwards an' it's insides were then it's outsides, they said, but it's the application that counts. That's why they should've used grapefruit. Hmph!”
"Tinker, any science, sufficiently advanced is indistinguishable from magic." Varric plopped a tip down on the table, leaving the meal and drinks on his tab. He picked up his coat and started for the door, "What 'they' said is open to debate, it could be a hoax. Or magic."
"Any magic can be explained by science," was Scotty's answer to that, along with pounding a fist against his chest as he stood up. He was trying not to let out the mother of all chunky-sounding burps. "Vanishing acts? Cloaking device. They've got them in Japan, ye know. Shirts ye can see through, around abouts, but with wires an’ cameras an’ screen things attached."
“Still magic. Magic and science are indistinguishable.”
"Smoke an' mirrors, that's all the rest of it is. Maybe some flammable gas as the smoke. So nooooo, it's still science." He made a face like anything else is just plain stinky!
"Say, weren't we gonnae go tae a convention an hour ago?" Scotty was putting on his jacket and reached into a pocket, taking out a pocket watch to check the time. It was the sole steampunk styled item he had on him, and had belonged to his great grandfather, so it at least looked the part. "They were gonnae talk about UFO's and how aliens are portrayed in Japanese cartoons. Ahh, we missed it! It's been two hours we've sat here." He turned his head to address the waitress, "Ye should've given me that sammich sooner!"
Cass flipped him off by scratching the side of her cheek with her middle finger, before smiling at Varric and waving as they departed. Varric stood about 10 inches shorter than Scotty, but didn't seem to notice.