Ask anyone. they call it "hair of the dog." have one drink with your hashbrowns and bacon and back it up with two glasses of water. the pain will start easing off within the hour.
Of course the best cure is to not to slug them back like a sailor in the first place, but i'm hoping i don't have to reiterate that point.
[ The thought of dumping more alcohol into her beleaguered body makes her wish for death, but who would go to the trouble of making up something so outlandish as "hair of the dog"? Besides, he did do her a big solid last night, taking care of her when she was at least three sheets to the wind, if not more. ]
Yes, that would be quite unnecessary, I assure you.
Very well. I must defer to your expertise. If the offer is still open, then I would gladly take it. I would very much like to give you my thanks in person, in any case, for aiding me in a rather... desperate hour.
Seat's still empty across from me and I haven't ordered yet, come if you want? I know moving is torture and the sun's even worse so I won't be sore if not, I brought reading.
[he's texted her an address though. up to you clair!]
[ She sends off that succinct text and then gets to the excruciating business of... getting up... and becoming a presentable human. It's a lot more difficult than usual, forcing her to tap into her great wellspring of self-will for the motivation to tarry on.
Eventually, she shows up looking mostly put together—only the shadows under her eyes and her half-lidded squint really give her away. It seems she hasn't learned the time-tested sunglasses trick.
As she approaches his table— ]
Greetings, ah... forgive me, but I don't believe I recall your full name.
[ She just really wants to call him Mister Tozier... in respect for his wizened age. She indicates the empty seat across from him— ]
If I may? [ —without actually waiting for him to reply, though, she just sits down. Heavily. ]
[Richie's got a heavy tome propped in front of his morning cuppa joe, flicking a page and reading with bemused interest. Something about Olympian history, the sort of dry stuff that schoolkids thought would better serve as paper planes and fire kindling. It serves him well enough now, trying to work in the backlog of notable events and town history that the people here pride themselves so deeply on.
He really does hate feeling left in the dust.
The little lady is a welcome distraction though. He greets her with a warm smile and a wave, rising some to fish her seat out but she beats him to the punch. He has to chuckle at that. Poor thing. She's cleaned up pretty well but there's no hiding that stormy grey clouding her eyes.]
It's Richie. Rich Tozier. I didn't get yours either, though I could call you "begyerpardon" if that's your fancy.
[If he figured out usernames what's her excuse?]
I've put in orders, by the way. You like the continental style? Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, toast...
[ She nods her head, a small smile pulling at her mouth, echoing his. Heavy breakfasts aren't normally her thing, but for some reason it feels imperative right now. Besides, didn't he say that this was all part of his "hair of the dog" cure? She'd do literally anything to end this suffering. ]
Oh. [ Did she not introduce herself?? She must've been very out-of-sorts indeed... her shoulders slump a little bit, as if with the weight of more regrets. ]
My apologies for such a gauche breach of etiquette. I am Lady Clair, knight of the One Kingdom of Valentia. 'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Tozier.
[ Look, technology is hard?! But she feels like she owes it to him to be super respectful after the... events of last night. From what she can recall (and there is still much that she can't recall), it wasn't exactly her finest hour, and this gentleman was kind enough to see her safely through it.
She reaches her hand across the table, palm down, like he's supposed to kiss it. Which... he is. ]
She'd hollered off about being a knight before, and he had to take her word for it because this place was a cuckoo's nest. He'd just wanted her last name.
"The One Kingdom of Valentia." Shoot him already. How many worlds did there have to be? That name doesn't even line up with anything in humble old Earth's history, he's sure of it. It's bad enough that there's some insidious shit going on with time here. His closest friend in the bunch is a pilot from motherfucking World War One. Yet that's not enough, you've got to make up places, do a few letter jumbles and come out the other end with fifteen thousand flavors of crazy.
So she's a knight and she rides a pegasus. Wonderful. It explains her manners. Richie's a shade lost as to what she expects with the hand extended so he grips it and gives a healthy shake. It seems like the safest bet.]
Likewise, Clair. Lady Clair, sorry. And just Rich is fine. I feel old enough as it is, the twenty five and under bracket is bursting at the seams.
[He'll let her hand go and takes another sip of coffee. There's a waiter approaching with two hefty plates.] You're not usually one to throw your cards down like that, I take it? With the party scene, I mean.
[Because lord knows she had been all about getting some besting done. Competition's an easy way to get into trouble.]
[ At least she only looks slightly disappointed that he gave her a handshake instead of a kiss—now that she's here in Nysa, people kissing her hand has become more of the exception than the rule. But she can hardly blame them for their ignorance of proper etiquette—is it the common people's fault that they were never educated? No. ]
Rich? If you are certain, then.
[ She stills sounds a twinge unsure. Look, she respects her elders!!! But if he insists, then she isn't going to go against his wishes.
The waiter sets their plates down in front of them, and Clair actually feels better just from the smell of her food. Of course, she's ravenous with hunger, though one probably wouldn't know it from the dainty way she spreads her napkin over her lap and picks up her fork. For appearance's sake. Her eyes, though—they're lit up like, well, a girl faced with her first meal after expunging all the contents of her stomach the night before.
At least she's a tiny bit less dainty when she digs in. ]
I'm not sure if I am able to glean your full meaning from... whatever you were trying to say, but it is true that I can hardly back down from a challenge. Especially from a pair so... detestable.
[There's no real fuss or muss after the shake, though she does look a shade put out. It occurs to him that maybe he should have kissed her knuckles, but the moment is gone and the likelihood of that happening even with the right warning is about square with zero. She's a nice kid, but that would be too weird to do seriously. He'll catch her in a jape one day.
As it is, he can only flash her a grin and say:] Indubitably.
[There's something weirdly alienating about getting called Mr. Tozier these days. He hardly had to hang around kids in the last few years, so the formalities all got sloughed into the professional life. Here, he'd rather feel like he was a part of something. A person, not a suited authority, a mild-mannered other to give a how-do-you-do and forget about until you next needed something.
When the waiter comes with the food he's laughing a little at her enthusiasm. He still has the wherewithal to snag the waiter by the sleeve and order a little shot for the lady. Better to keep it simple and short. Get the pain over with.]
You've got the gist, looks like. They seemed like a ripe pack of assholes. Probably splitting a single brain cell between the lot of them. [He takes his first few bites with a happy hum. Space might be an unwelcome change of pace but the food here was incredible.] I'm guessing next time you're gonna think twice before knocking back the pints? It's not bad if you go slow but that was just plain mean.
[ For all that they're probably in some dive diner-type place, Clair still eats like she's at a twenty course dinner party hosted by the queen of England herself. Silverware: held properly. The food on her plate: cut into tiny, ruthlessly precise pieces before they go anywhere near her mouth. Elbows: far away from the table. Mila forbid they touch the surface of it.
She even waits until she's swallowed all of her food before asking: ]
Are you lecturing me, sir?
[ Because that's kind of what it sounds like?? She scowls—nobody lectures her, except maybe her older brother, Clive. Not even her parents had much of a stomach for it, which is probably how she ended up a knight in the first place. ]
I am one of the finest knights in the One Kingdom! I fought at King Alm's side in the war! I was there on the battlefield the day that he slew the fell dragon Duma and the gods left our world! I am perfectly capable of— [ gods, all this dramatic soliloquizing is making her head want to split open. ] —making my own... [ she wants to die ] —decisions.
[He's in the midst of enjoying a mouthful of hashbrowns when she starts laying into him. Richie raises a brow. Is this going to be a scene? He was no expert on knighthood and he knew just enough etiquette to casually break it where he pleased, but this was striking him more as teenage balking than besmirched honor. Dragon slaying hadn't helped her much once the ale got pumping, now did it?
She tapers off rather pitifully. His mild bemusement turns into a snicker.]
If they're such buffoons then why did you bother? Just stick your nose in the air and keep on walking. Idiots make their own undoing, trust me on that one. Wouldn't you rather be tackling dragons?
[The waiter returns. He is carrying (with a shade of a frown) a pair of shot glasses, golden whiskey threatening to jump the rim. Richie smiles warmly and thanks the man. He takes his own and holds it out to Clair. Cheers, baby.]
[ She shoots him a baleful look in response to that... snicker. In fact, she keeps shooting it the more he goes on—and it's not like she can't admit that he has a point. Maybe. She's just not admitting it right now, because that stubborn streak of hers is a mile wide and she hasn't quite exhausted it yet.
Or maybe she's just a shitty teenager talking back to her drunkle. She's got the pout for it and everything. ]
Why can I not do both?
[ As for the glass of... something definitely alcoholic, judging by the smell... she eyes it warily, looking a little green around the gills. The thought of drinking that, after what happened last night— ]
Are you certain this will work?
[ Well, if he says so... what does she has to lose? Probably what she's eaten of her breakfast, actually. With a deep breath, she picks up the shotglass and clinks it against his. ]
[Oh brother. To be perfectly fair, Richie had been a far bigger handful as a youngin' himself, but even so he can start to see how parental fatigue was a chronic epidemic.]
No one is impressed if you topple a dumbass. Evolution'll take care of them. Besides, they're usually too stupid to know when they're good and reamed. Would you say the nails driving in your skull are worth it right now? Bet you couldn't even point the suckers out in a crowd. They don't matter one bit, so beating them doesn't either.
[She's none too pleased to see the return of the devil that did her dirty, but she's not declining. Richie happily toasts along with her.]
'Course it will. Cheers, my liege!
[He takes his back with only a slight wince, and returns to his brunch.]
[ The whiskey burns down her throat, but she somehow manages to knock it all back at once—somehow. It makes her cough when she comes back up, her face twisted into an expression of disgust. ]
Oh, goodness... my word! Do people truly drink this... swill?
[ Because that's what it tastes like to her. She's probably used to like, vintage wines and cuvee champagnes—and she probably couldn't even taste what she was drinking last night anymore.
Mila help her. At least the whiskey settles all right in her stomach, which is probably the best she could've hoped for. She isn't sure if it's making her feel better yet, though... does it take a while to kick in? In the meantime, she's just going to keep digging into this delicious food. ]
Yes, I believe you've quite made your point. [ Not that she's saying anything about agreeing with it. She frowns and looks away—sighs. ] I should apologize, in any case, for losing my patience just now. My brother has long warned me that I can be far too willful.
I do appreciate your assistance, both yesternight and now—as well as your wisdom.
[Obviously they do, because Richie's looking happy as a clam. That could also be that she's having such a struggle with it. Children.]
You'll warm up to it. Give it a few years. Maybe ease in with a couple cocktails first. Bet you'd like a whiskey sour, that's got tang and sweet to pull back the punch.
[Her brother sounds right. It's not necessarily a bad thing. And lord knows Richie's good enough to dish out the platitudes, but does he follow his own advice? Do as I say and not as I do, as that old adage goes. Hard to be a certified trash talker and not take some pride in knocking around dunderheads with clever barbs.
Even so, that's different.]
No apology needed. You are actually about the most polite person I've met, come to think of it. And I'm saying that after I've seen you puking, so you best believe I'm being honest.
[He does smile at the gratitude, and warmly so. None of the shit-eating grin that he'd been throwing left, right, and center.] Well, you're welcome. Don't know about wisdom, but I've been on the other end of this conversation enough. Time to start shaking fingers at the people repeating my mistakes, I reckon.
What do you do around here? When you're not, uh, riding the pegasus or whatever. You got a job?
[ The look on her face advertises her extreme skepticism, but she does give him this: ]
I must take your word for it.
[ Her brow creases a little at the mention of her least finest moment, if only because she just really... wants to forget about it. She had thought that it couldn't get worse than the last time she'd puked, to borrow his succinct phrasing, but it seems that she's topped herself. What a mess.
But the expression on his face is such a sincere one that she finds her frown softening, little by little, into a smile. ]
I can see that you are a truly kind man, Mister Tozier—ah, Rich.
Ah, yes, my job! [ She perks up. Who looks this happy to talk about their job? Well... ] I work at Shades Darker as a server. Is that not so very quaint?
[ Yeah, she's never held down a job in her life, so it's still all so very Novel and Exciting to her, even months later. Exchanging labor for money? What a concept! ]
[That's a little bit adorable. Jesus. He mimes whipping out a pen and paper, poising them like some overzealous newsboy grabbing the scoop. You can practically see the length of the pen whipping back and forth and loop-de-loop as he jots the testimony down.] Uh huh uh huh, may I quote ya on that one, Missy? We've got accounts by the dozen and they're all contradicting harder than a pinko pitted 'gainst his own platform, it's good to get the real scoop, y'see? Trying to get the big picture on this Tozier fella has been a real muck-a-round.
[The second bit comes as news to him. The act is dropped as pleasant befuddlement assumes its seat.]
Are you now? Well I'll be, I'm a bartender there. How is it that we've missed each other? [And, because she is very young and quite cute, he feels a pressing need to ask:] Uh...no one's gone bothering you there, have they?
[There were classier places to wait on tables, Lady Clair, and he knows what men are like. Sweet Lord does he know.]
[ This impression also goes right over her head, since she's from medieval times so why they hell would she have any context for a reporter kabby seriously why does he keep doing this. They haven't invented newspapers in Valentia yet. Or printing presses. Or reading, probably, if you're a peasant.
She still watches with amusement anyway, if only because she's pretty easily amused, and if only in mostly uncomprehending amusement. ]
I suppose it is a rather large establishment...
[ She taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. Maybe they just have different schedules? Who knows, really.
As for the next question— ]
Oh, no! [ She sniffs. ] Hmph, well—no one of any importance, in any case.
[ That is, no one she can't handle. Do you really think she puts up with even the smallest amount of nonsense? But in all honesty, the amount of customers who make trouble for her is a small fraction of the total. Most patrons have their hands full enough with the models, anyway, that they usually leave her in peace. ]
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If by that inelegant turn of phrase you mean an alcoholic beverage, then you must certainly be in jest.
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Ask anyone. they call it "hair of the dog." have one drink with your hashbrowns and bacon and back it up with two glasses of water. the pain will start easing off within the hour.
Of course the best cure is to not to slug them back like a sailor in the first place, but i'm hoping i don't have to reiterate that point.
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Yes, that would be quite unnecessary, I assure you.
[ She learned her lesson. ]
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If the offer is still open, then I would gladly take it.
I would very much like to give you my thanks in person, in any case, for aiding me in a rather... desperate hour.
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[he's texted her an address though. up to you clair!]
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Eventually, she shows up looking mostly put together—only the shadows under her eyes and her half-lidded squint really give her away. It seems she hasn't learned the time-tested sunglasses trick.
As she approaches his table— ]
Greetings, ah... forgive me, but I don't believe I recall your full name.
[ She just really wants to call him Mister Tozier... in respect for his wizened age. She indicates the empty seat across from him— ]
If I may? [ —without actually waiting for him to reply, though, she just sits down. Heavily. ]
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He really does hate feeling left in the dust.
The little lady is a welcome distraction though. He greets her with a warm smile and a wave, rising some to fish her seat out but she beats him to the punch. He has to chuckle at that. Poor thing. She's cleaned up pretty well but there's no hiding that stormy grey clouding her eyes.]
It's Richie. Rich Tozier. I didn't get yours either, though I could call you "begyerpardon" if that's your fancy.
[If he figured out usernames what's her excuse?]
I've put in orders, by the way. You like the continental style? Eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, toast...
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[ She nods her head, a small smile pulling at her mouth, echoing his. Heavy breakfasts aren't normally her thing, but for some reason it feels imperative right now. Besides, didn't he say that this was all part of his "hair of the dog" cure? She'd do literally anything to end this suffering. ]
Oh. [ Did she not introduce herself?? She must've been very out-of-sorts indeed... her shoulders slump a little bit, as if with the weight of more regrets. ]
My apologies for such a gauche breach of etiquette. I am Lady Clair, knight of the One Kingdom of Valentia. 'Tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Tozier.
[ Look, technology is hard?! But she feels like she owes it to him to be super respectful after the... events of last night. From what she can recall (and there is still much that she can't recall), it wasn't exactly her finest hour, and this gentleman was kind enough to see her safely through it.
She reaches her hand across the table, palm down, like he's supposed to kiss it. Which... he is. ]
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a mouthful.
She'd hollered off about being a knight before, and he had to take her word for it because this place was a cuckoo's nest. He'd just wanted her last name.
"The One Kingdom of Valentia." Shoot him already. How many worlds did there have to be? That name doesn't even line up with anything in humble old Earth's history, he's sure of it. It's bad enough that there's some insidious shit going on with time here. His closest friend in the bunch is a pilot from motherfucking World War One. Yet that's not enough, you've got to make up places, do a few letter jumbles and come out the other end with fifteen thousand flavors of crazy.
So she's a knight and she rides a pegasus. Wonderful. It explains her manners. Richie's a shade lost as to what she expects with the hand extended so he grips it and gives a healthy shake. It seems like the safest bet.]
Likewise, Clair. Lady Clair, sorry. And just Rich is fine. I feel old enough as it is, the twenty five and under bracket is bursting at the seams.
[He'll let her hand go and takes another sip of coffee. There's a waiter approaching with two hefty plates.] You're not usually one to throw your cards down like that, I take it? With the party scene, I mean.
[Because lord knows she had been all about getting some besting done. Competition's an easy way to get into trouble.]
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Rich? If you are certain, then.
[ She stills sounds a twinge unsure. Look, she respects her elders!!! But if he insists, then she isn't going to go against his wishes.
The waiter sets their plates down in front of them, and Clair actually feels better just from the smell of her food. Of course, she's ravenous with hunger, though one probably wouldn't know it from the dainty way she spreads her napkin over her lap and picks up her fork. For appearance's sake. Her eyes, though—they're lit up like, well, a girl faced with her first meal after expunging all the contents of her stomach the night before.
At least she's a tiny bit less dainty when she digs in. ]
I'm not sure if I am able to glean your full meaning from... whatever you were trying to say, but it is true that I can hardly back down from a challenge. Especially from a pair so... detestable.
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As it is, he can only flash her a grin and say:] Indubitably.
[There's something weirdly alienating about getting called Mr. Tozier these days. He hardly had to hang around kids in the last few years, so the formalities all got sloughed into the professional life. Here, he'd rather feel like he was a part of something. A person, not a suited authority, a mild-mannered other to give a how-do-you-do and forget about until you next needed something.
When the waiter comes with the food he's laughing a little at her enthusiasm. He still has the wherewithal to snag the waiter by the sleeve and order a little shot for the lady. Better to keep it simple and short. Get the pain over with.]
You've got the gist, looks like. They seemed like a ripe pack of assholes. Probably splitting a single brain cell between the lot of them. [He takes his first few bites with a happy hum. Space might be an unwelcome change of pace but the food here was incredible.] I'm guessing next time you're gonna think twice before knocking back the pints? It's not bad if you go slow but that was just plain mean.
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She even waits until she's swallowed all of her food before asking: ]
Are you lecturing me, sir?
[ Because that's kind of what it sounds like?? She scowls—nobody lectures her, except maybe her older brother, Clive. Not even her parents had much of a stomach for it, which is probably how she ended up a knight in the first place. ]
I am one of the finest knights in the One Kingdom! I fought at King Alm's side in the war! I was there on the battlefield the day that he slew the fell dragon Duma and the gods left our world! I am perfectly capable of— [ gods, all this dramatic soliloquizing is making her head want to split open. ] —making my own... [ she wants to die ] —decisions.
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Perhaps there are merits to moderation. Though I can hardly see myself leaving a challenge from such buffoons unmet. It's a matter of principle.
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She tapers off rather pitifully. His mild bemusement turns into a snicker.]
If they're such buffoons then why did you bother? Just stick your nose in the air and keep on walking. Idiots make their own undoing, trust me on that one. Wouldn't you rather be tackling dragons?
[The waiter returns. He is carrying (with a shade of a frown) a pair of shot glasses, golden whiskey threatening to jump the rim. Richie smiles warmly and thanks the man. He takes his own and holds it out to Clair. Cheers, baby.]
One for the New Year?
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Or maybe she's just a shitty teenager talking back to her drunkle. She's got the pout for it and everything. ]
Why can I not do both?
[ As for the glass of... something definitely alcoholic, judging by the smell... she eyes it warily, looking a little green around the gills. The thought of drinking that, after what happened last night— ]
Are you certain this will work?
[ Well, if he says so... what does she has to lose? Probably what she's eaten of her breakfast, actually. With a deep breath, she picks up the shotglass and clinks it against his. ]
To the new year, then. Cheers!
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No one is impressed if you topple a dumbass. Evolution'll take care of them. Besides, they're usually too stupid to know when they're good and reamed. Would you say the nails driving in your skull are worth it right now? Bet you couldn't even point the suckers out in a crowd. They don't matter one bit, so beating them doesn't either.
[She's none too pleased to see the return of the devil that did her dirty, but she's not declining. Richie happily toasts along with her.]
'Course it will. Cheers, my liege!
[He takes his back with only a slight wince, and returns to his brunch.]
Not totally, mind you. But it helps.
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Oh, goodness... my word! Do people truly drink this... swill?
[ Because that's what it tastes like to her. She's probably used to like, vintage wines and cuvee champagnes—and she probably couldn't even taste what she was drinking last night anymore.
Mila help her. At least the whiskey settles all right in her stomach, which is probably the best she could've hoped for. She isn't sure if it's making her feel better yet, though... does it take a while to kick in? In the meantime, she's just going to keep digging into this delicious food. ]
Yes, I believe you've quite made your point. [ Not that she's saying anything about agreeing with it. She frowns and looks away—sighs. ] I should apologize, in any case, for losing my patience just now. My brother has long warned me that I can be far too willful.
I do appreciate your assistance, both yesternight and now—as well as your wisdom.
[ Yeah, old man. ]
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You'll warm up to it. Give it a few years. Maybe ease in with a couple cocktails first. Bet you'd like a whiskey sour, that's got tang and sweet to pull back the punch.
[Her brother sounds right. It's not necessarily a bad thing. And lord knows Richie's good enough to dish out the platitudes, but does he follow his own advice? Do as I say and not as I do, as that old adage goes. Hard to be a certified trash talker and not take some pride in knocking around dunderheads with clever barbs.
Even so, that's different.]
No apology needed. You are actually about the most polite person I've met, come to think of it. And I'm saying that after I've seen you puking, so you best believe I'm being honest.
[He does smile at the gratitude, and warmly so. None of the shit-eating grin that he'd been throwing left, right, and center.] Well, you're welcome. Don't know about wisdom, but I've been on the other end of this conversation enough. Time to start shaking fingers at the people repeating my mistakes, I reckon.
What do you do around here? When you're not, uh, riding the pegasus or whatever. You got a job?
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I must take your word for it.
[ Her brow creases a little at the mention of her least finest moment, if only because she just really... wants to forget about it. She had thought that it couldn't get worse than the last time she'd puked, to borrow his succinct phrasing, but it seems that she's topped herself. What a mess.
But the expression on his face is such a sincere one that she finds her frown softening, little by little, into a smile. ]
I can see that you are a truly kind man, Mister Tozier—ah, Rich.
Ah, yes, my job! [ She perks up. Who looks this happy to talk about their job? Well... ] I work at Shades Darker as a server. Is that not so very quaint?
[ Yeah, she's never held down a job in her life, so it's still all so very Novel and Exciting to her, even months later. Exchanging labor for money? What a concept! ]
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[The second bit comes as news to him. The act is dropped as pleasant befuddlement assumes its seat.]
Are you now? Well I'll be, I'm a bartender there. How is it that we've missed each other? [And, because she is very young and quite cute, he feels a pressing need to ask:] Uh...no one's gone bothering you there, have they?
[There were classier places to wait on tables, Lady Clair, and he knows what men are like. Sweet Lord does he know.]
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She still watches with amusement anyway, if only because she's pretty easily amused, and if only in mostly uncomprehending amusement. ]
I suppose it is a rather large establishment...
[ She taps a finger against her chin thoughtfully. Maybe they just have different schedules? Who knows, really.
As for the next question— ]
Oh, no! [ She sniffs. ] Hmph, well—no one of any importance, in any case.
[ That is, no one she can't handle. Do you really think she puts up with even the smallest amount of nonsense? But in all honesty, the amount of customers who make trouble for her is a small fraction of the total. Most patrons have their hands full enough with the models, anyway, that they usually leave her in peace. ]