deercountry | February & March Catch-All

Entry tags:

February & March Catch-All

Who: Vyng

spiritwalks and various others
What: Catch-All for February. Closed Prompts (in comments) for now, but am open to adding more!
When: Various
Where: Various

Content Warnings: Listed in subject lines when applicable

Notes:

- Style veers wildly between prose and brackets. Just choose whatever style feels good when responding, and I'll match it ♥

- Feel free to hit me up at

jackets or Jansen#8997 for plotting and general chatter...or if you want a starter of your own!

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Vyng's gaze shifts between Tuck and Anakin's pot shots at each other. Beat for beat, it hits a lot of Tuck's initial interactions with people: Taking something personally? Check. Yelling outside a window? Check. Attempted destruction of property? Check.

Honestly, the most-surprising thing is that Tuck couldn't break anything.

"Wow, seriously? That never happens." Then again, neither does getting air-choked in somebody's kitchen. But Vyng wisely keeps that to himself. "...I'll bet the neighbors loved listening to that."

"You should put a muzzle on him." Even if Tuck failed to lift it with him pressing down on it with the Force, the fact that he made the attempt left him in an unhappy mood.

Anakin doesn't care what the neighbours think of them, but it's an easy pot shot to take.

"Yeah? Well I'd just take it off!" The sound logic of a ten year old. What now Jedi man? "Are you coming over here, or just gonna stand in the middle of the bar? We have to put our songs in!" Tuck explains with urgency. They need to get into the queue soon.

Vyng sagely nods at Tuck's rebuttal. Sounds reasonable to him! Force or no Force, the man's certainly a force of nature. Vyng rarely tries to contain or control him, choosing to pick his battles instead. When it comes to his friend's antics, most things just roll off him like water on a duck's back anyway.

"You seem stressed, Anakin," he adds. "And you what's good for stress? Slamming one back with some buds, and belting out some real bangers. C'mon—" Vyng pats the empty space next to him. "First drink's on us."

"I'm not stressed." Would a stressed person come out for karaoke? He thinks not.

He does eventually take the seat next to Vyng and Anakin stares at them expectantly. He doesn't know any of the songs here and this was their idea so he waits to see what will happen next.

Tuck goes wide eyed when Vyng suggests they will be picking up the first round for this asshole. He's one second away from saying as much, but he holds his tongue with irritable resignment. It's a knee jerk reaction to hoard what he has, even at the detriment of others. Sometimes Vyng included. An entire childhood struggling to survive in a desert slum still pulls the strings from time to time when resources get brought up.

"Oh my god, dude. What do you want to drink? You have to tell us, so we can put in an order!

"What kind of music you listen to?" His non sequitur is abrupt, but he's excited for singing. The sooner they get their shit together, the sooner he can stums some bars with his best friend.

Edited 2022-03-28 01:26 (UTC)

In a town built on social anarchy, Vyng doesn't worry as much about hoarding resources. Currency is useless here...and the crystal veins running through his body lets him generate his own supply of pure amethyst whenever they want to treat themselves. Even if it's a little painful, Vyng barely flinches at it anymore.

(And anyway, he likes that what little shapeshifting he has left still has some use to his friends and family. But he keeps that thought to himself.)

For the moment, he's content to let Tuck do the talking. So instead of piping up, Vyng casually props his chin against a scarred hand and looks at Anakin with genuine interest.

Anakin visibly seems to withdrawn at Tuck's line of questioning. "I don't really drink. Or listen to music." And then finally at a mumble. "You can pick what you want."

Whatever bravado he had is gone once he didn't need to argue back. Instead he's uncomfortable at getting asked something as simple as his drink preferences. He finds the attention awkward when it's not about something he's done. People didn't usually ask him things like this.

This would be a perfect moment to clap back at Anakin, call him a nerd and a loser for not knowing how to have fun, but it never comes. Instead he flags the bartender over with a loud bellow.

"Hey! Two herbal teas and—! What do you get again?" Tuck turns his attention to Vyng to get his answer.

"And an oxblood! Wait! But make the teas look cool like they're alcoholic so it feels like we're having fun, too!"

"Also..." Vyng raises a hand. "One of those tiny little umbrellas in the oxblood, if you please."

The bartender flashes them a thumbs up, does a dramatic spin across the floor, and effortlessly swipes two hefty mugs from the shelf behind him. Before long, he's pouring some loose leaf blend into a couple basket-shaped infusers with the same flair as making a Sleepy-Town Iced Tea.

Vyng, meanwhile, nods and leans back in his seat. "Nice."

They're drinking tea? Anakin is sure bars were more for alcoholic beverages. Most of his experience comes from watching Obi-Wan who does go for hard liquor when the option comes up so he finds this all very unusual, but he only has one example to compare to.

"Is this... normal for a bar?"

He doesn't mind tea, but he certainly doesn't have the patience to wait for it to steep properly. He dunks his infuser in and out of the mug to try get it to go faster.

Neither does Tuck. He is dunking his aggressively, too, perhaps a bit faster than Anakin because fuck you.

"Uh, what part?" Tuck asks. Nothing is ever normal when they go about anything, so it's a fair question. He needs specifics. "You mean the drinks? Did you want alcohol? I can't exactly get drunk all that easily and you made it sound like you're a lightweight... But we can get some!"

Vyng's eyes drift between the two mugs. It's pretty funny watching both men independently decide they need to slam back tea as soon as possible, which means dunking their diffusers with the same vigor as shoving some poor nerd's face into a bucket of water. Some of Vyng's own tea blends can take up to 20 minutes to steep properly, so he can't quite relate.

"Did you want, like...dirt in your tea?" He nods toward his bottomless green suede bag of jars (and other garbage) he brought from the Dream. "I've got some. Or a flask of a little somethin'-somethin' for a tiny pick-me-up pinch, if you know what I'm saying."

(Yes, there are places back in their old world where dirt-tea is a thing. And yes, normal tends to lose any real meaning in their family.)

"Anyway..." Vyng daintily stirs his cocktail of pomegranate wine, vodka and spices. "You can drink whatever you want, pal. And if you wanna stick with something soft? That's fine too. More alcohol for me."

He punctuates that thought with a sly sip and smile.

"Uh. No thanks." Anakin may be perfectly comfortable eating off the floor, but he didn't go out of his way to add dirt to his food.

He looks down at his mug with the pale liquid that hasn't steeped properly yet and then back up at Tuck. That was suspiciously like a challenge. "And I'm not a lightweight! I can handle it."

He absolutely cannot, but he's still standing up to flag the bartender. "I want the strongest thing you've got."

Tuck's eyes flit over to Vyng to catch his reaction, but the half-elf doesn't look concerned. Neither does the bartender. He finger guns with a straight-face and pulls out a dark bottle, topping off a short glass with the stuff.

"Here, kid. And good luck." He sets it down on their table, and Tucks begins slapping the table in rhythm.

"Ana-kin! Ana-kin! ANA-KIN!" Tuck begins chanting with excited cheer.

O-kay. They're doing this? They're doing this, apparently. The sensible thing would be to try talking Anakin down, but...hell, they're here to have a fun time. If Anakin wants to get plastered, they're happy to egg him on.

"A-na-kin!" Vyng joins in — albeit with a different cadence that clashes with Tuck's own rhythmic shouting. "Ana-kin! A-NA-KIN!"

Anakin picks up the glass downs it in one gulp.

And then immediately spits it back out into the glass.

Wait, that wasn't supposed to happen. He holds up his other hand in a universal gesture of wait. "I can do it! I was... I just didn't expect it to taste like that."

He thought he could tolerate anything, but this was something completely different. He'd need to be fast, bypassing his tongue entirely if possible. He eyes his gross drink with a careful eye and the moment he musters enough courage slams it back for a second time.

This time he's trying to hold back wheezing and coughs.

As soon as the drink goes down and stays down, there is a loud chorus of cheering from Tuck and Vyng. It's so loud it drowns out the poor bastard singing tunelessly to his song of choice, drawing ire from a few tables around them. And one thankful for the brief respite.

"Okay, now are we gonna fucking sing?" Tuck asks with childish impatience. If he doesn't get his emotions out through song soon the bar and its patrons will be the ones suffering for it.

Vyng is lightly patting Anakin on the back when Tuck pushes the conversation back toward their original quest.

"Heck yeahhh," he says with a grin. "And you know what we're gonna sing? Let's say it together, Tuck. On three, two, one—"

"Sabotage!"

"Take Me Home, Country Roads!"

(Wait—)

"Or we can sing 'Sabotage'," he brightly adds. "That's fine too. Always a classic."

Vyng turns to Anakin. "Which sounds more fun to you? Screaming-shouting stuff? Chanting? Or, actually..." He rubs his chin, studying the other man. "How good are your Bat impressions, Anakin?"

Anakin blinks at them in a way that suggests that while he's not feeling it right now, it's going to hit him soon. The back patting helps with keeping it down though.

"Bat?" They were a bit different in the Star Wars universe. "I can't do the screeching noises."

He wants screaming-shouting over chanting, but he doesn't know either song to say anything.

"Just do the shouting parts then," Tuck offers, looking to get this sorted as soon as possible. He's sure this jerk can scream just fine.

"We'll point, like this—" He thrusts two fingers in Anakin's direction, eyes bulging with unnecessary intensity. "—and then you scream. Vyng can do the bat noises. You got your harp, right?" Already Tuck is grabbing his two-necked bass, you know, past the giant axe on his back.

"Everyone know their part? Okay, break!" Tuck vaults over the table and heads for the unlucky patron holding the karaoke mic.

"HEY! GIVE ME THE MIC! GIVE—GIVE IT TO ME RIGHT NOW!"

Vyng has already retrieved the instrument from his bag. "Harpin' to go, bud."

Aaand then he watches Tuck yell at the poor bastard standing between him and Sabotage. Vyng's expression is mild — no facepalming, no eye-rolling. This is 100% normal in his particular slice of Trench...because Tuck takes his rake back from the neighbor the same way he takes down water demons: With brute force, and all the grace of a bull in a china shop.

"I'd do what he says if I were you, pal," Vyng pipes up when the patron makes eye contact with him. There's an undercurrent of sympathy in his voice. But also, it's just karaoke. The stakes couldn't be lower

Unsurprisingly, the Trenchie hands the mic over.

"Just watch for the cue." Vyng looks over at Anakin. "You can't fuck it up."

(His tone of voice is more reassuring than forceful, at least, regardless of the wording.)

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February & March Catch-All

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1/3

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3/3 lolll fucked up my formatting, here we go

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