Reynard's House - Late Evening - Chilly
Vridel von Hresvelg
Vridel plunked the bottle of brandy down on the table. “The Empire's finest, as requested."
Given how close they were drawing to graduation, he, Mercer, the Professor, Reynard, and Devon had finally gotten around to putting together something they'd been planning for a while: an excuse to get drunk on alcohol from each of their homelands, and to argue about whose was the best. He'd been saving this bottle of Imperial brandy for the occasion for a couple of moons now, and was rather looking forward to seeing what everyone else offered.
Devon actually had two bottles; everyone else had chipped in so he could get both without digging into his savings or anything—they didn't often address that he was from poverty, but they took steps to make sure it didn't get in the way of anything, something Vridel thought all of them were happy to do. The younger man set them down. “Okay so the clear stuff is from Sreng. Vodka—they make it from potatoes. And the other one is rye whiskey from Faerghus." He took a seat across from the Professor, who nudged his own bottle forward.
“Since you all had everywhere in Fódlan and quite a bit more covered between you, I brought a Dagdan malt. My father was fond of it." The bottle seemed to in fact be missing a few drinks already, though whether Jeralt or Cyril had drunk them was hard to tell.
“I, of course, have Brigidian rum to contribute to this enterprise. And pipeweed, if anyone's interested." Reynard arched a brow.
Vridel and Cyril both indicated that they were, but Devon passed.
For his part, Mercer produced two bottles as well. “And here I provide to you Almyra's famous rum, and the Alliance's famous brandy. It's probably not as good as the Empire's, but that's what we're here for!" Mercer stated as he placed the bottles next to the other ones. “I'll pass on the pipeweed for now, Rey. Something about that and drinking too much gets me a little sick, to be perfectly honest. And I'd rather get sick by drinking too much, thank you."
He took a seat and grabbed the nearest cup. “Alright, so which one do we want to try first? Malt, either Vi's brandy or mine, Devon's stuff, or Rey's stuff?"
“Vodka tastes like shit. No offense, Devon. It gets a person drunk very quickly, though. So maybe we do a shot of that to start and then start comparing other things?" Reynard passed pipes to both Vridel and Cyril, who both lit them with faint sparks of magic.
Vridel wouldn't indulge much in this, as he like Mercer tended to prefer being high or drunk, rather than and. But if he went lightly on it now it should fade by the time drunkenness settled in.
“None taken. You're right, honestly." Devon shrugged. The suggestion seemed to meet with general approval, though, and he poured a shot's worth or so into everyone's glass. “Should we toast or something?"
“Toasts are boring," Vridel observed, bringing his glass closer to himself. “Anyone know any good drinking games?"
“Hm," Mercer seemed to be in thought as his brows furrowed, and he brought a hand up to rest against his chin. “Never have I never is a boring game, so we're not going to play that," he began, pursing his lips together as he seemed to be lost in thought. “Oh, I know. We can play bullshit. We'll say something that is either true or not. If someone calls bullshit, and it is, indeed, bullshit, that person has to drink. For example, if I say something, and Dev calls my bluff, then I have to drink."
“What do you say?" Mercer asked, arching a brow in Vridel's direction.
“Why would anyone say anything false then?" Cyril asked, furrowing his brows. “I think if someone calls but it's not a bluff, then the caller should have to drink too. And everyone has to participate each time."
“Works for me. Everyone take your shots first, though. Then we'll see whose rum is better." Reynard seemed genuinely intrigued by this prospect, and threw back his vodka with the ease of an expert drinker. Cyril followed suit, and Vridel a bit more cautiously.
Devon coughed a little, then waited for everyone to have a new drink before speaking. “Uhhh. Uh... Princess Sorcha offered to make me a knight."
Vridel considered this. It sounded like something Sorcha would do, so he shrugged. Cyril and Reynard seemed to think so, too, because neither of them called him on it.
Mercer shrugged his shoulders as well, perhaps thinking the same. He pursed his lips together and seemed to think of something before a smirk crossed his features. “Hm... my favorite color, despite the obvious, is pink. I know, I know. Pink doesn't really suit me, but it brings out my eyes," he stated, batting his eyelashes in Vridel's direction. Knowing Mercer, he probably said that just to drink.
“Bullshit," Cyril said immediately, arching an eyebrow at Mercer.
Vridel considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, your favorite color is a particular shade of blue," he said, suspicious that it was true but not knowing for sure.
“I don't know, I think he might be telling the truth," Devon said.
“I'm calling bullshit for fun," Reynard added.
Mercer snorted softly before he took a shot. “You're not wrong that pink is not my favorite color, but you are wrong of it being blue. It's actually a very particular shade of yellow," he stated, arching a brow at Vridel. He was probably referring to the shade of blonde Sorcha's hair was. “Alright, next!" he stated, making a vague shooing motion with his hands towards the others.
“Thea kissed me first," Vridel said, seeing an opportunity to make the game more interesting.
“No way," Devon said.
“I'm still calling bullshit for fun," Reynard added.
Cyril narrowed his eyes for a moment in consideration, then shrugged, apparently willing to accept it. Mercer, of course, knew this from a previous conversation, and so only Devon and Reynard drank that time.
“Huh. This is good," the latter remarked. “Not as good as mine, though. Also: I slept with Professor Jeritza."
“No you didn't," Vridel said, though in truth he had no idea.
Cyril and Devon shook their heads, too, apparently in agreement.
“Hey, Professor Jeritza was a good-looking guy. I could totally buy that," Mercer stated, quite inclined to believe Reynard. “But did you really sleep with him, because that's just weird even for your tastes, Rey." He inched forward as if he were actually curious to know the truth.
Reynard laughed softly, taking a drink. “No, but I came kind of close to doing so, actually. This was when we were still getting established at the Academy. I was trying to set up an information network, and I had this intuition that he'd go for a man, so I kept the option open. Nearly used it, too, except I'm guessing he got called away on the night I'd planned for it, because he canceled our plans. Well, either that or he decided he wasn't interested, but I don't think it was that."
“I guess that makes sense," the Professor said, nodding his head agreeably. “A prostitute taught me to tango," he added.
Devon looked indecisive, but Vridel and apparently Reynard could easily believe this.
“I would call bullshit, but we all saw you and Sen do the tango, so..." Mercer stated with a light shrug of his shoulders. “Not that I'm saying Sen was taught by a prostitute, but... man how did you both do that with straight faces? Seriously. You and Sen are crazy good at poker faces. I'm surprised that you haven't amassed a small fortune playing it." Mercer took a shot, though, and made a face.
Cyril snorted a laugh. “I regret to inform you that that's just my face. And I did used to make rather a lot of money at cards, actually. It got to the point where the men in my father's company wouldn't play me anymore."
“That I can believe," Vridel said, having a drink and pouring himself another because he could, rather than because the rules demanded it of him. “Whose turn it is? Devon's?" He was pretty sure that was where they were in the rotation, anyway.
Devon nodded, but he was turning his glass around in his hands repeatedly, clearly nervous about something. “Ummm." Quite independently of prompting from any of the others, his face started to slowly turn red.
“This ought to be good," Reynard remarked, a smile inching up his mouth.
“What? Oh—no. I shouldn't use that one, it's..." The flush darkened.
Mercer looked intrigued, perhaps because of the flush on Devon's face, or he was being nosey. “Come on, Dev. You have to tell us, now. That's the whole point of bullshit. We have to see if you're telling the truth or lying to us. And quite frankly, I just want to know what has you all worked up. I bet it has something to do with a certain orange-haired person, doesn't it? Oh it definitely looks like it." Mercer was grinning from ear to ear, though, as if anticipating Devon's answer.
“SylviandIhadsexlastnight." The words were rushed out as more or less one garbled exhalation, and Devon immediately downed the contents of his glass. He was quite obviously already mostly if not entirely drunk, and that was unlikely to help, but it did seem to make him feel a little better.
Vridel and Reynard immediately burst out laughing, more at the delivery than what was actually said, for while certainly interesting knowledge, that part was not particularly funny on its own. Even the Professor seemed to find the humor, though, arching an eyebrow and actually grinning as he tipped his glass towards Devon.
“I think we all drink to this one. In congratulations if nothing else?"
“Devon has in fact now gotten laid more recently than anyone here but me," Vridel noted wryly. “I'm not sure if I should be congratulating him or berating the rest of you."
“Well, I'd say it's a little bit of both, really," Mercer replied, tipping his glass in Devon's direction as well. “Congrats, Devon, for actually... wait, she suggested it, didn't she?" Mercer stated, his grin growing a little further up his face. “I mean, there's nothing wrong when a woman propositions you, but what happened to our little bold Dev?! I'm almost sad," he continued, though from the look on his face, he was merely teasing Devon.
“But back to what Vi just said. How do you know Rey hasn't gotten laid recently? He's not exactly forthcoming on that shit. And you know our situation," he spoke, referring to his and Sorcha's situation. “It'll happen when she wants it to. In the mean time, I can wait. I have more restraint than... well most of you. Teach... not sure how you're doing with all your touchy-feely selves, but I'm sure you're fine." Mercer made a vague gesture in Cyril's direction before taking another shot.
“Do you really have enough time for restraint?" Vridel asked, arching an eyebrow. “The Professor's situation, I can understand. But graduation is going to make things more difficult for you, not less." Half-drunk as he was, he liked to have thought he'd have been just as direct sober, but couldn't be sure. His tone was actually serious; there was a genuine concern here. Not for the mere fact of the act, of course, but rather for what it could—and this was the part he was still getting used to—mean.
“Sorcha's dense, you know. If you're too restrained she might get to thinking you're not that interested." He shrugged, though, having said his piece. “Your turn to make us guess."
Mercer grumbled something beneath his breath, but shrugged before taking another shot. “Yeah, well... I'm actually very sentimental and a delicate flower," Mercer stated, arching a brow almost challengingly in Vridel's direction.
“Sentimental, definitely. Delicate flower's bullshit, though."
Devon and Reynard chuckled at that one, and the Professor shook his head faintly.
“True. We all know who the real delicate flower is, here," Mercer stated, taking another shot before his eyes went to Devon. “It's Rey, of course. I mean, it's quite obvious. No offense, though, Rey."
“Oh no. I am gravely insulted. I fear I might faint," Reynard deadpanned, pouring a new round of drinks for the group.
Sensing himself approaching drunkenness, Vridel put out the pipe he was using, exhaling a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling as he contemplated his next entry into the game. “I actually don't want to graduate," he said, blinking and tilting his chin back down to look at all of them.
The others wore contemplative faces for a moment. “I don't think I want to, either," Devon admitted. “There are plenty of things to look forward to, I know, but..." he stared down morosely into his cup. “I'm going to miss everyone. Especially you guys."
Mercer sighed softly and leaned back into his chair. He set the cup in his hand to rest near his chest as he wore a contemplative look. “Well, we've all kind of promised to come back in five years, so it's not like we're not going to see each other eventually. And, well... we can all keep in touch with letters and shit. It's not like this is goodbye." Mercer shot a knowing glance at Vridel, though, before downing his cup and pouring himself another.
“On the bright side of things... at least everyone has a family... sort of. We're all kind of family in that weird kind of way, so..." he trailed off as if he didn't know how to finish that sentence. “To always being friends and a weird family!" he stated, holding out his empty cup in a toast-like fashion.
“You have to toast properly to something like that," Reynard said, tutting and pouring some liquid into Mercer's glass from one of the bottles. Then he clinked his own against it, and the others, including Vridel, followed suit.
Perhaps there was no extending the Academy year, but... if he couldn't do that he supposed this was about the best he could hope for.
Given how close they were drawing to graduation, he, Mercer, the Professor, Reynard, and Devon had finally gotten around to putting together something they'd been planning for a while: an excuse to get drunk on alcohol from each of their homelands, and to argue about whose was the best. He'd been saving this bottle of Imperial brandy for the occasion for a couple of moons now, and was rather looking forward to seeing what everyone else offered.
Devon actually had two bottles; everyone else had chipped in so he could get both without digging into his savings or anything—they didn't often address that he was from poverty, but they took steps to make sure it didn't get in the way of anything, something Vridel thought all of them were happy to do. The younger man set them down. “Okay so the clear stuff is from Sreng. Vodka—they make it from potatoes. And the other one is rye whiskey from Faerghus." He took a seat across from the Professor, who nudged his own bottle forward.
“Since you all had everywhere in Fódlan and quite a bit more covered between you, I brought a Dagdan malt. My father was fond of it." The bottle seemed to in fact be missing a few drinks already, though whether Jeralt or Cyril had drunk them was hard to tell.
“I, of course, have Brigidian rum to contribute to this enterprise. And pipeweed, if anyone's interested." Reynard arched a brow.
Vridel and Cyril both indicated that they were, but Devon passed.
For his part, Mercer produced two bottles as well. “And here I provide to you Almyra's famous rum, and the Alliance's famous brandy. It's probably not as good as the Empire's, but that's what we're here for!" Mercer stated as he placed the bottles next to the other ones. “I'll pass on the pipeweed for now, Rey. Something about that and drinking too much gets me a little sick, to be perfectly honest. And I'd rather get sick by drinking too much, thank you."
He took a seat and grabbed the nearest cup. “Alright, so which one do we want to try first? Malt, either Vi's brandy or mine, Devon's stuff, or Rey's stuff?"
“Vodka tastes like shit. No offense, Devon. It gets a person drunk very quickly, though. So maybe we do a shot of that to start and then start comparing other things?" Reynard passed pipes to both Vridel and Cyril, who both lit them with faint sparks of magic.
Vridel wouldn't indulge much in this, as he like Mercer tended to prefer being high or drunk, rather than and. But if he went lightly on it now it should fade by the time drunkenness settled in.
“None taken. You're right, honestly." Devon shrugged. The suggestion seemed to meet with general approval, though, and he poured a shot's worth or so into everyone's glass. “Should we toast or something?"
“Toasts are boring," Vridel observed, bringing his glass closer to himself. “Anyone know any good drinking games?"
“Hm," Mercer seemed to be in thought as his brows furrowed, and he brought a hand up to rest against his chin. “Never have I never is a boring game, so we're not going to play that," he began, pursing his lips together as he seemed to be lost in thought. “Oh, I know. We can play bullshit. We'll say something that is either true or not. If someone calls bullshit, and it is, indeed, bullshit, that person has to drink. For example, if I say something, and Dev calls my bluff, then I have to drink."
“What do you say?" Mercer asked, arching a brow in Vridel's direction.
“Why would anyone say anything false then?" Cyril asked, furrowing his brows. “I think if someone calls but it's not a bluff, then the caller should have to drink too. And everyone has to participate each time."
“Works for me. Everyone take your shots first, though. Then we'll see whose rum is better." Reynard seemed genuinely intrigued by this prospect, and threw back his vodka with the ease of an expert drinker. Cyril followed suit, and Vridel a bit more cautiously.
Devon coughed a little, then waited for everyone to have a new drink before speaking. “Uhhh. Uh... Princess Sorcha offered to make me a knight."
Vridel considered this. It sounded like something Sorcha would do, so he shrugged. Cyril and Reynard seemed to think so, too, because neither of them called him on it.
Mercer shrugged his shoulders as well, perhaps thinking the same. He pursed his lips together and seemed to think of something before a smirk crossed his features. “Hm... my favorite color, despite the obvious, is pink. I know, I know. Pink doesn't really suit me, but it brings out my eyes," he stated, batting his eyelashes in Vridel's direction. Knowing Mercer, he probably said that just to drink.
“Bullshit," Cyril said immediately, arching an eyebrow at Mercer.
Vridel considered for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, your favorite color is a particular shade of blue," he said, suspicious that it was true but not knowing for sure.
“I don't know, I think he might be telling the truth," Devon said.
“I'm calling bullshit for fun," Reynard added.
Mercer snorted softly before he took a shot. “You're not wrong that pink is not my favorite color, but you are wrong of it being blue. It's actually a very particular shade of yellow," he stated, arching a brow at Vridel. He was probably referring to the shade of blonde Sorcha's hair was. “Alright, next!" he stated, making a vague shooing motion with his hands towards the others.
“Thea kissed me first," Vridel said, seeing an opportunity to make the game more interesting.
“No way," Devon said.
“I'm still calling bullshit for fun," Reynard added.
Cyril narrowed his eyes for a moment in consideration, then shrugged, apparently willing to accept it. Mercer, of course, knew this from a previous conversation, and so only Devon and Reynard drank that time.
“Huh. This is good," the latter remarked. “Not as good as mine, though. Also: I slept with Professor Jeritza."
“No you didn't," Vridel said, though in truth he had no idea.
Cyril and Devon shook their heads, too, apparently in agreement.
“Hey, Professor Jeritza was a good-looking guy. I could totally buy that," Mercer stated, quite inclined to believe Reynard. “But did you really sleep with him, because that's just weird even for your tastes, Rey." He inched forward as if he were actually curious to know the truth.
Reynard laughed softly, taking a drink. “No, but I came kind of close to doing so, actually. This was when we were still getting established at the Academy. I was trying to set up an information network, and I had this intuition that he'd go for a man, so I kept the option open. Nearly used it, too, except I'm guessing he got called away on the night I'd planned for it, because he canceled our plans. Well, either that or he decided he wasn't interested, but I don't think it was that."
“I guess that makes sense," the Professor said, nodding his head agreeably. “A prostitute taught me to tango," he added.
Devon looked indecisive, but Vridel and apparently Reynard could easily believe this.
“I would call bullshit, but we all saw you and Sen do the tango, so..." Mercer stated with a light shrug of his shoulders. “Not that I'm saying Sen was taught by a prostitute, but... man how did you both do that with straight faces? Seriously. You and Sen are crazy good at poker faces. I'm surprised that you haven't amassed a small fortune playing it." Mercer took a shot, though, and made a face.
Cyril snorted a laugh. “I regret to inform you that that's just my face. And I did used to make rather a lot of money at cards, actually. It got to the point where the men in my father's company wouldn't play me anymore."
“That I can believe," Vridel said, having a drink and pouring himself another because he could, rather than because the rules demanded it of him. “Whose turn it is? Devon's?" He was pretty sure that was where they were in the rotation, anyway.
Devon nodded, but he was turning his glass around in his hands repeatedly, clearly nervous about something. “Ummm." Quite independently of prompting from any of the others, his face started to slowly turn red.
“This ought to be good," Reynard remarked, a smile inching up his mouth.
“What? Oh—no. I shouldn't use that one, it's..." The flush darkened.
Mercer looked intrigued, perhaps because of the flush on Devon's face, or he was being nosey. “Come on, Dev. You have to tell us, now. That's the whole point of bullshit. We have to see if you're telling the truth or lying to us. And quite frankly, I just want to know what has you all worked up. I bet it has something to do with a certain orange-haired person, doesn't it? Oh it definitely looks like it." Mercer was grinning from ear to ear, though, as if anticipating Devon's answer.
“SylviandIhadsexlastnight." The words were rushed out as more or less one garbled exhalation, and Devon immediately downed the contents of his glass. He was quite obviously already mostly if not entirely drunk, and that was unlikely to help, but it did seem to make him feel a little better.
Vridel and Reynard immediately burst out laughing, more at the delivery than what was actually said, for while certainly interesting knowledge, that part was not particularly funny on its own. Even the Professor seemed to find the humor, though, arching an eyebrow and actually grinning as he tipped his glass towards Devon.
“I think we all drink to this one. In congratulations if nothing else?"
“Devon has in fact now gotten laid more recently than anyone here but me," Vridel noted wryly. “I'm not sure if I should be congratulating him or berating the rest of you."
“Well, I'd say it's a little bit of both, really," Mercer replied, tipping his glass in Devon's direction as well. “Congrats, Devon, for actually... wait, she suggested it, didn't she?" Mercer stated, his grin growing a little further up his face. “I mean, there's nothing wrong when a woman propositions you, but what happened to our little bold Dev?! I'm almost sad," he continued, though from the look on his face, he was merely teasing Devon.
“But back to what Vi just said. How do you know Rey hasn't gotten laid recently? He's not exactly forthcoming on that shit. And you know our situation," he spoke, referring to his and Sorcha's situation. “It'll happen when she wants it to. In the mean time, I can wait. I have more restraint than... well most of you. Teach... not sure how you're doing with all your touchy-feely selves, but I'm sure you're fine." Mercer made a vague gesture in Cyril's direction before taking another shot.
“Do you really have enough time for restraint?" Vridel asked, arching an eyebrow. “The Professor's situation, I can understand. But graduation is going to make things more difficult for you, not less." Half-drunk as he was, he liked to have thought he'd have been just as direct sober, but couldn't be sure. His tone was actually serious; there was a genuine concern here. Not for the mere fact of the act, of course, but rather for what it could—and this was the part he was still getting used to—mean.
“Sorcha's dense, you know. If you're too restrained she might get to thinking you're not that interested." He shrugged, though, having said his piece. “Your turn to make us guess."
Mercer grumbled something beneath his breath, but shrugged before taking another shot. “Yeah, well... I'm actually very sentimental and a delicate flower," Mercer stated, arching a brow almost challengingly in Vridel's direction.
“Sentimental, definitely. Delicate flower's bullshit, though."
Devon and Reynard chuckled at that one, and the Professor shook his head faintly.
“True. We all know who the real delicate flower is, here," Mercer stated, taking another shot before his eyes went to Devon. “It's Rey, of course. I mean, it's quite obvious. No offense, though, Rey."
“Oh no. I am gravely insulted. I fear I might faint," Reynard deadpanned, pouring a new round of drinks for the group.
Sensing himself approaching drunkenness, Vridel put out the pipe he was using, exhaling a cloud of smoke towards the ceiling as he contemplated his next entry into the game. “I actually don't want to graduate," he said, blinking and tilting his chin back down to look at all of them.
The others wore contemplative faces for a moment. “I don't think I want to, either," Devon admitted. “There are plenty of things to look forward to, I know, but..." he stared down morosely into his cup. “I'm going to miss everyone. Especially you guys."
Mercer sighed softly and leaned back into his chair. He set the cup in his hand to rest near his chest as he wore a contemplative look. “Well, we've all kind of promised to come back in five years, so it's not like we're not going to see each other eventually. And, well... we can all keep in touch with letters and shit. It's not like this is goodbye." Mercer shot a knowing glance at Vridel, though, before downing his cup and pouring himself another.
“On the bright side of things... at least everyone has a family... sort of. We're all kind of family in that weird kind of way, so..." he trailed off as if he didn't know how to finish that sentence. “To always being friends and a weird family!" he stated, holding out his empty cup in a toast-like fashion.
“You have to toast properly to something like that," Reynard said, tutting and pouring some liquid into Mercer's glass from one of the bottles. Then he clinked his own against it, and the others, including Vridel, followed suit.
Perhaps there was no extending the Academy year, but... if he couldn't do that he supposed this was about the best he could hope for.