Snippet #2554239

One full, mostly chugged beer in, Theon was starting to relax a little, possibly only because no one was directly trying to bother him yet or drag him closer to the mobs flailing around the bonfires. That was just fine, as far as he was concerned. In fact, he found himself getting a little bored. He couldn't really leave, at least not without disappointing certain people that wanted to see him make some strides towards a happier, sunnier tomorrow, but he couldn't really stay here and just do nothing.

Lohengrin, too, seemed to be doing nothing, besides drinking of course. He wondered if his dream journal had also roped the lizardman into trying to make some friends. If so, neither of them were doing a very good job. Thinking he might as well see if he could make things better, or worse, Theon gave the red-haired man a light punch on the shoulder.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," he said, holding up his cup. "I've just given myself another goal tonight, beyond getting drunk. I'm going to learn a thing or two about you. So here's what I want you to do. Tell me something you've never done before. If I've done it, I'll down a cup. Then it'll be my turn. They've got ale for days here, so I figure we might as well drink our fill, and we might as well do it in a way that isn't so boring." He shrugged at him, vaguely wondering if he was going to regret this.

"You go first."

Perhaps it would have been more fitting of Lohengrin to spit something nasty and refuse, but he wasn’t really in the mood, if he were being perfectly honest. It took serious energy to be actively antagonistic, and so usually he didn’t bother unless he was already confronted by something he didn’t like. This mostly seemed like a somewhat humorous way in which to continue down the road to getting himself nice and plastered, so he saw no reason to refuse.

Given his lifespan, Theon was at a bigger advantage than he really knew here, but Lohengrin’s tolerance for alcohol was very high, so maybe it would even out in the end. Should be interesting to find out. He had to wrack his brain a little to think of something he’d never done, because of course all the things that came to mind first were things he remembered doing. “Hn. I’ve never…” There was a pause, and his eyes flickered to the idiots cavorting around the bonfires. Nope. A dwarf already passed out sprawled on his back, half-empty ale cup in one hand. He’d done that too. The silhouette of the Elysium back up the hill. Nothing there. He scratched his head with his free hand. “I’ve never played this game before, clearly.” He shrugged, almost apologetically. “And I’ll figure something better out for next time it’s my turn.”

Theon's stare was a mix of amusement and disappointment. "Yeah... yeah that was pretty fucking bad." The scryer had, however, played this game on at least one occasion that he could remember, so he downed the cup in his hand, refilling it at the keg. The cups weren't all that large, but if they played this quickly, they would soon add up, he didn't doubt.

"Let's see... I've never been to Galatea. Don't think it would be my kinda place." He suspected most places weren't his kind of place, but some parts of the north in particular sounded like a bad time. Deluge was shit, sure, but most of the rest of Albion was just shit with a coat of paint on.

Lohengrin wordlessly knocked back his cup, making the same motions to refill it before throwing in a little bit of his own commentary. “What, you mean bootlicking pretension with a side of overdone architecture isn’t your idea of a good time? I’d tell you you’re missing out, but even I’m not that good a liar.” He tapped his fingertips on the table a few times, trying to think of something else, until at last he alighted on something that might work. “Never spent more than two years at a time in one place, not even as a kid. ‘Course, the whole mercenary schtick makes that one kind of easy.”

It may have also had something to do with the fact that he didn’t really want people noticing that he never seemed to age, but he could have gone at least five years if that were the only consideration. It was, in truth, more sentimental than that, though hell if he’d admit it. Sentiment was exactly the kind of thing that would do you in, no matter where you were, a lesson he’d learned a long time ago.

Another drink the scryer gulped down, and he gave his head a good shake at the bottom of it, refilling his cup. "Twenty-three years in Deluge. It was as bad as it sounds." It sounded nice, though he supposed the only way he'd have had a similar experience would be if his parents had decided to convert him into some kind of traveling fortune teller, dragging him along with a leash. His lip twitched at the thought.

"Never been married," he said, raising his eyebrows. Obviously he was fishing, but that was the point of this game, after all. It didn't seem likely, given the lack of settling he just admitted to, but mercenaries tended to lead rather interesting, rather crazy lives. A lot could happen in two years.

Lohengrin stared pretty hard at his drink for a few seconds, then shook his head. “Not quite.” He didn’t offer any further explanation—it would definitely not be the mood he was looking for here. Deciding to shift away from the topics he was not at all eager to explore, he picked something else at random. “Never been in charge of anyone else.”

"More trouble than it's worth," Theon answered, taking on another cup. "Well, when the people you're in charge of are bandits. That's a couple steps down from mercenaries, I'd imagine." Not all that far, though. Both were willing to do a wide variety of things in exchange for profit. Though mercenaries tended to reach an agreement before taking their profits. Bandits didn't leave one with much of a choice.

He didn't pursue the hinted answer Lohengrin provided him on the subject of marriage. It was a game of fishing, not prying, though the two tended to overlap in some cases. Theon certainly wasn't going to go into too much depth on several subjects, so it would have been hypocritical of him to ask the red-haired mercenary to do otherwise. And he was only hypocritical when he wanted people to hate him.

"We've done a lot of weird shit lately," he remarked, when he noticed that several of the things he was about to say he'd never done he had in fact done, and quite recently. "Ah, got one... never killed a man out of anger." A bit of a morbid topic, but Lohengrin was a mercenary, Theon was a former bandit lord, and both had undoubtedly killed a fair share of people in their lives. Theon actually found it a bit remarkable how emotionlessly he'd done all of his killing. And perhaps a bit sad.

Lohengrin thought about it a moment, then shrugged slightly and downed his drink, running the back of his hand along his mouth afterwards. “Well, I didn’t kill the guy because I was mad at him specifically. I was just pissed in general, and so when the opportunity presented itself, I took it.” It was obviously helpful that the idiot had attacked him head-on, but he might not have really even bothered to engage if he weren’t already so wrecked. It was honestly hard to say, but he counted it because it was close enough. “Wasn’t in the best shape after I lost m’last company, you know?”

Casting his eyes around the improvised outdoor barroom, he decided that for any hope of getting beyond the ‘weird shit’ they’d been doing lately—and it was pretty outrageous—he’d have to be a little more creative. “Never had a formal education.” He honestly didn’t suspect that Theon had, either, given the guy’s admitted history of being a bandit, but he got the sense that this wasn’t really the important part of the game. “Wondered about it sometimes, though. Magic’s always been instinct for me, y’know? How d’you even teach something like that?”

"Yeah, don't ask me," Theon said, shrugging. "I'm gonna be honest, most of the things I did for people in Deluge were complete bullshit. I'd just have dreams about shit, right? And it's not always relevant. But you always gotta give the bastard something he thinks he wants or else you get beat or some shit." Thankfully, his dreams did tend to provide him with some useful things, for the most part, but he supposed that was really just instinctual as well. He wondered how much more powerful he would be if someone had been around to formally train him in the art of scrying.

"Heh, I'll tell you a secret. Well, it's not really a secret, I just don't talk to people about stuff very often, right? Anyway, the very first time I pulled off farsight..." he grinned, hanging on the moment for a little while. "I was taking a shit. Pants 'round my ankles, I'm what, twelve? I get real bored sittin' there, and then suddenly I can see everything, and it feels like everything can see me, and I flip the fuck out and fall off the seat. Took me three weeks after that to do it again. It's instinct, sure... but who knows where I'd be if someone could'a taught me that shit faster. There's probably magic that I don't even know I can do yet, like, from some other school or something."

Well, that did it. Lohengrin actually laughed. It was partially the ridiculousness of the story, and partially how it reminded him a lot of something else. “First time I ever used magic, I was probably like… fuck, I dunno. Eight or somethin’. Mindin’ my own damn business by the hearth, tryna eat dinner, then this asshole starts tearing me a new one about how the fuckin’ orders don’t match the profits, an’ he thinks I’ve been skimmin’ off the top. I mean, yeah, I worked for the fucker, but I’m too shit scared to even dream about filching, y’know?” Lohengrin took a deep draw from the tankard in front of him. His early years had not been fantastic by any stretch of the imagination.

“Well, he goes for the switch or whatever… next thing he knows, his ass is on fire. Runs around the house yelling for help fer like five minutes before someone helps ‘im. Couldn’t sit down for a fortnight.” He’d gotten a hell of a beating for that, but it had been entirely worth it, and the first signal to the child he’d been that he wasn’t as powerless as he thought. “Hell, I’d almost forgotten that happened.” He certainly hadn’t thought about it in years, possibly decades.

Finishing off his beer, Lohengrin retrieved another. “If y’ever fin yerself in Galatea, though… there’s a mage on every fucking street corner. Someone’ll teach ya, if you’ve got the time and money to put into it. Maybe not scryin’—but you can see about that other shit.” Being of the opposite school of magic himself, he wouldn’t be of any help whatsoever.

They'd apparently stopped playing the game, but Theon downed another drink anyway, setting the cup aside with a small burp. "And maybe... maybe if I get better at scryin' before I get there, maybe I can figure which ones of 'em will be any use to me ahead of time." He certainly didn't want to learn any stupid parlor tricks of magic if he was capable of much more. Not just anyone could be allowed to teach the great farseer and future-scryer Theon Zeona.

"Now, if you'll excuse me... I'm going to go make a fool of myself by the bonfires. Maybe win some points." He walked with a slightly sluggish stride towards the dancers, looking for Gwen.