april catch - all

[mehanizovati]

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery



open prompts.

fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)

a. while awake

[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.

viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.

these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.

it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.



b. nightmare

[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]

What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.

it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]

(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)


odds and ends - willful machine, early april

[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.

he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]



[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.

the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]




closed prompts.


jinx - willful machine, late march

[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.

he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.

his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.

a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]



allen - willful machine, early april

[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.

viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.

[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?



wildcard.

[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is dichotomy or you can dm me here!]

Comments

[mehanizovati]

[viktor couldn't agree with that face more, snorting at the 'respectfully.'] A little of both and please, speak some ill. I care very much about the professor but I often want to strangle him. Tomorrow is too late and he's let topside feed off the undercity unchecked for too long.

[well, the drinks are making him a little less guarded about those opinions, bit of frothiness there he recognizes and shakes his head at with an apologetic look. you know what would fix this? another sip of his drink. can't go wrong.

so a thing about viktor and proximity is he likes it too. in any form, he likes casual touch and likes being close to other people, though there are few he trusts enough to want that close. pal is one of them, and without jayce around and his tendency for casual affection things have felt a touch empty.

mostly meaning when they accidentally brush in any way viktor makes no move to pull away, trying to ignore the fact that maybe he should. it's fine if pal isn't moving away and he's not respecting that, yes? yes, he thinks so. he's going to think so because he doesn't want to move away himself.]

You write? [he asks, glancing to him with a bit of surprise.] You've written a whole novel? What is it about?

[this genuinely impresses him, he is so not a creative type in the slightest aside from the mechanical.]

[megatheorem]

[That gets him to chuckle, although not for the content; for the newfound fire Viktor has in him to talk about his frustrating boss-mentor, and his easy agreement that tomorrow is too late. Palamedes is familiar with not having enough time; he can only imagine what that feels like when applied to an entire city.

So he scribbles some more idle notes that will definitely make sense in the morning about this new heist romance fight novel (series), leaning onto his elbow and into Viktor's space by another inch, only half-thinking about it. He has a similar thought: he misses Camilla, and the easy way only two people who've been around each other their whole lives can continue to be around each other. Viktor isn't a replacement, god no, in the part of his heart occupied by people important to him, Viktor and Camilla have their own respectful spaces—

(which is only achingly sentimental, but he's a little drunk, so it's alright)

But it's comfortable, in a way he hadn't anticipated folding himself onto a wooden bar seat for not one but two drinks would actually be.]

Do you want to put him in the book? [every novel needs a resident background fuddy-duddy, for sure,] My novel is about... necromancer marriage politics.

[The first one sucked, so he's writing a fix-it fic. He wiggles the pen emphatically:]

The first installment had far too much tedious misunderstanding and unkind things to say about the sort of person who goes to sexy parties — a hobby that sounds perfectly fine to me, assuming no one is being forced to attend — and so I am adding a number of improvements and a fair few charming friends to sit pointedly outside the realm of "love interest," both of whom I have tossed out and exchanged for a new pair, anyway.

[Which is a lot of words, and so he blinks and looks at Viktor as if to wonder if that was too much insane plot summary of the sequel to a book he hasn't read.]

Ironically, I had too much free time.

[mehanizovati]

Yes, I very much do. [just instant. the idea of heimendinger living on in another world in a thrilling romance novel is just exactly what he needs in his life right now. it especially helps him let go of any lingering frustrations in favor of fonder ones- and honestly he'd probably find the whole thing funny anyway. the professor was more chaotic than people realized under the passive nature.

he thinks that the last time he was curled over a paper with someone like this it was jayce, sky eagerly to the side offering suggestions. he wonders what both of them would say to him helping with the plot of a romance novel- he wonders what jayce would think of pal, really. he can't imagine they wouldn't get along, though he's skewed and thinks they're both lovely people so who wouldn't get along with them.

how can you not get along with someone who wrote a book about necromancer marriage politics in his spare time between research?]

Sexy parties. [he repeats with a nod.] And these are something that happens when necromancer marriage and politics are concerned?

[it was a bit of an insane summary but viktor is just drunk enough not to notice that, just taking it as it comes.] That is a good choice, misunderstandings can be interesting but largely they are very frustrating when overplayed.

[megatheorem]

[Oh, that was fast. Palamedes laughs again and jots down another comprehensible note: mentor-boss expy; Viktor consult. So congratulations, Viktor, for now being irrevocably connected to this novel, because he's going to have characterization questions. Assuming he can remember most of this, and not just repeat with perfect clarity the contextless nonsense he's writing down.]

You'll have to tell me about him more, later. I'd hate to paint a picture without any nuance.

[But he'll probably take a couple shots at the immortal stubbornness, just for their shared amusement. The final draft of this novel will either be literary greatness from cover to cover, or crap.

Either way: it will have been worth it.]

On the Third, maybe — most sexy-parties novels are set on the Third, occasionally the Fifth.

[He reaches for his drink to polish off another quarter of it, vaguely recalling he had a plan to keep track of his body's response to alcohol consumed in relatively short timespans - but, well, oops. Note one: the rest of the notes fell victim to his limited focus, which is presently entirely occupied by novels and Viktor.]

Of course we agree — you've immaculate taste. Brilliant even in the art of literary criticism, which surprises and delights me in equal measure.

[Or: Viktor has become The Editor, double congrats.]

[mehanizovati]

Very well, I would warn get ready to describe his magnificent facial hair often. [even as a yordle that was impressive. viktor smiles down at the notes, satisfied, as though this now cemented heimendinger's place in a real, solid novel.

he downs some more of his drink, now nearly done and feeling a pleasant buzz to his thoughts he knows means he's had more than he intended. he takes only a moment to categorize the feeling and assess the situation before blowing it off because he'd rather focus on the novel, on pal.

it will be fine, they're allowed this, aren't they? a moment to breath. they deserve it. pal deserves it, he really does.]

The Third... does that mean they're a wealthier planet? Rich people do love marriage contracts and parties. [he twirls his hair as he considers it, a quirk he usually has when considering only the more complex formulas and schematics.] I need to make a chart about all these planets. It actually does make things easier than remembering family names. Just numbers in a neat row.

[the praise for his literary critique has him grinning despite himself. he's doing that a lot tonight.] Flattery. Let us use this knowledge of what does not work here- overused misunderstandings, hm... jealousy written in a demeaning way. Oh, that ah... how do you say it? The ones with- love triangles, yes yes, that. They can be very annoying.

[frankly he's surprising himself with how many opinions he has here. he hasn't even read many normal novels but apparently when he sets his mind to being useful to pal here he makes it work.]

[megatheorem]

[Ah, he adds facial hair and circles it twice, then draws an arrow to connect it to the first note. Yes, this is the ideal planning process.]

'Three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile,' [he says near-automatically, with the lilt of a line of poetry, like it's a line pulled from a set, because it is. He glances up from the notes, the intended quick explanation of that hitching on Viktor doing this thing with his hair again, that he'd noticed before — little things, the things that come together to make the whole picture of Viktor when he thinks about him, like details to put in a book. Hm.]

They — yes. Relatively; they like their gossip and fashion and backstabbing each other whenever it seems the most fun. They have princesses, even.

[Both of whom are degrees of Off, in his humble opinion. Still, it makes sense to Palamedes why something raunchy and full of politics would be set there and not, say, the Sixth or something.

He listens to Viktor, ah... tear down a bunch of literary tropes, delighted all over again; after a moment he puts the pen down on the napkin and slides it a bit to the side, to be more in front of Viktor than himself. Their arms brush and then press ever-so-lightly together; he lets it happen.]

Here; your turn. I agree with everything, for the record.

[mehanizovati]

[poetry, that has viktor looking over with a touch of surprise. it sounds almost like something out of a spell, and he kind of wants to hear the whole thing with how fluidly pal offered it.] A poem?

Ah. [focus.] Yes, court intrigue is exactly the environment for romance novel I imagine. Necromancer princesses... that's an odd thought.

[part of him still sees necromancers as the type living in caves and towers, digging bodies up. he wonders if that's rude now that he knows one, it's not like he thinks pal would steal a dead body. probably. not without a good reason at least.

enough of that, his eyes draw to the press of their arms before he focuses himself to focus. he adjusts the napkin to write in a spindly hand 'Avoid: obsessive jealousy, love triangles.' he draws a little triangle next to that because it seemed fitting. ]

Well that's disliked aspects, what about things to try and accomplish? [what makes a academic thriller romance adventure good? he hasn't the slightest clue. his brow furrows as he tries to think of what he likes about romance in a story and largely comes up empty handed.]

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes snorts, a deeply inelegant noise that he covers with the back of his hand, shaking his head and reaching for what's left of his drink to collect himself. An odd thought! Imagine, the Tridentarii being looked in the face and called an odd thought. Palamedes would give anything to see it.]

And you haven't even met them, [he says, after he controls himself back down to a flickering amusement. He drums his fingers on the table, those not attached to the arm engaged in extended contact with Viktor's, and watches him write. The triangle is a nice touch.

For the poem, almost an afterthought, he says smoothly,] 'Six for the truth over solace in lies.' Naturally.

[Nothing could possibly sound more Sixth and less poetic, which is what he enjoys about it, no shade on poetry whatsoever. Is... is that a romantic trope that can be included, somehow? No lies? He wonders at the prospect of intrigue driven purely by interest, and how compelling that might be.

It's compelling to him. Ah, well,] Several heists. Clever wordplay, if you'll indulge me.

[mehanizovati]

[that snort gets a glance over, and he's pleased to have caused it though he hasn't the faintest clue what it was he said- ah, the princesses part. they must really be pieces of work, and if he takes a second to imagine some of the upper houses with necromancy he can start to imagine why]

They aren't here, are they? [who was it? emperor, ninth people, a saint? god, pal's world is weird. admittedly his only real interaction with people of his own world involved being pretty sure he was going to be mugged for most of it but none of them have the title of 'saint.'

he glances up again when pal says that line, forcing himself to look down at the paper as he says,] You're good at that. [reciting. he focuses on the words, easily preferring it over the third's.] Preferable to gems and smiles, I think. Is this a widely known poem of your world?

[ several heists gets added, away from avoid because that is important.] Hm, with each amping up the romantic tension, I'm sure. I imagine a good story would make the progress there feel as much of a victory as whatever they are stealing.

[megatheorem]

God, I hope not. [A beat. He looks exaggeratedly thoughtful, nearly rolling his eyes up to the ceiling with a hum.] Well— no. No; both princesses are their own kind of headache, but I would only feel bad if one of them were to hear me say that about her.

[Coronabeth Tridentarius was, once, sympathetic to Cam, not that she had needed to be; this does a lot of heavy lifting for Palamedes, for the obvious reasons.

Then he resumes watching Viktor write, taking a moment when he's not mid-word to lean into his space just briefly, a purposeful press of their arms together this time, as - thanks. For the compliment.]

We all like our catchphrases, but I remember everything, anyway.

[Several heists is precisely as it should be, though, superb job, team. Palamedes snaps his fingers, then taps on the corner of the napkin with considerable approval. (He's managed to stay seated this long, this is the compromise.)]

What did I say? Brilliant. That's precisely the kind of cheese that brings in the audience.

[mehanizovati]

[well, that's sort of a good review, insofar as one of them had feelings that could be hurt and he'd rather not hurt them. viktor hums like he understands but that's probably the blue talking.

he's curious now though.] I'm confused as to how there's royalty in an empire, unless it's simply a planet hierarchy? Figurehead rulers?

[but he easily gets distracted again, by multiple things.] Will you recite them then? I'm curious. [and he's good at it, as previously mentioned.

he goes to drain the rest of his drink, and really the flavor isn't bad once you've had enough of it. the trick to alcohol tasting better, drink enough and it doesn't matter. he puts cheese there somewhere, because surely they'll remember that shorthand when this is all said and done, lips quirking.]

And the main characters? This is your realm, I haven't the slightest idea. [he makes a gesture like to you, master writer. the pen offered with a flourish.]

[megatheorem]

I'd say it's profoundly their problem. They only rule themselves, besides.

[He shrugs, and takes the pen, and taps it against his cheek a few times while he tries to think of like, actual characters? He writes down, no-nonsense fighter, which is enough for a whole character, for now. The second is person who owns all of the stolen things, which is definitely the ideal love interest for a thief who punches real good.

He'll jot down some details in various abbreviated shorthand after that, that again, will be very clear in the morning, and begins: his recitation voice softer and more melodic, the rhythm and meter committed to memory as much as the words themselves:]

Two is for discipline, heedless of trial;
Three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile;
Four for fidelity, facing ahead;
Five for tradition and debts to the dead;
Six for the truth over solace in lies;
Seven for beauty that blossoms and dies;
Eight for salvation no matter the cost;
Nine for the Tomb, and for all that was lost.

[He skips, notably, One; he'd told Viktor of the ruin of the First, which could explain that well enough. Truthfully, he's still mad at God, and so fuck the First, actually — but Viktor wanted to hear the poem, so there: the bulk.

To the story notes, he's added more cheese! with no arrows drawn anywhere, so that will be a fun mystery for later. Then he slants the paper back to Viktor, for approval. Check these cool heist characters out.]

[mehanizovati]

Sound like Demacia without the eh... borderline genocidal hatred of magic. [just necromancy instead. why any people would choose monarchy as the preferred ruling style is beyond him but then again, then there would be no necromancy royal courts for pal's novel.

but ah, pal is reciting and viktor just watches him more than he really listens to the words. if he's going to be honest the casual hints of how solid pal's memory is always impresses him, but the way his voice sounds wrapping around them is... also nice. impressive, that he has a sense of meter. that is it.

a shame he's not paying closer attention, because frankly this little poem was very interesting. he does take note of no first, which he assumes the poem simply doesn't address. a little odd. and the seventh makes his mouth thin a little when he recalls it, but he brushes it away.]

Impressive, you even have the meter down. [a pause.] The Sixth still has the most appealing one by far. Some of those are eh, they're suspect. 'No matter the cost' is rarely a phrase you see used in a purely positive way.

[ok, right, main characters. he snorts and smiles at the descriptions.] Hm, well done. A very believable pair of people, I would say. At least one or both has to have academic backgrounds though, for the genre. Here- [he gestures for the pen and just sort of writes 'academia' near the two character ideas like that helps at all.]

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes hums, considering a place with a genocidal hatred of anything like he's considering it from infinitely far away; the Sixth has never cared for the Emperor's war, and Imperial enemies have never encroached upon his daily life, so this thing that Viktor describes and the one he can compare to are - distant. Outside the scope of his smaller existence.

He has perhaps had too much colorful liquor to articulate about war and various hatreds. He's thinking about the poem again like a song stuck in his head, rolling the meter over and giving Viktor a small smile for his good poetic ear.]

I believe you, but: flatterer, [he says, for the praise of the Sixth's part, and helpfully,] The Eighth love to produce judgmental cretins who like to call names and denounce anything that moves.

[Said with a shake of his head, and after Viktor adds his piece he takes the pen back to write '+ swords' under the academia. For the fighting, of course. Then he holds the napkin up in front of them both, looking at it with pride.]

We've done it; unsurprisingly, but it bears declaring. An excellent start.

[mehanizovati]

Oh, was that the one with the... the inbred comment? [viktor vaguely remembers that. was it the eighth? his memory is usually better but he's had a bit too much blue for things not to be pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and, more so, not seem all that important.

unlike this work, that gives viktor an odd feeling as he looks down at it.] I've never helped with something like this before. I don't really do 'creative' outside of engineering.

[and it's interesting, as it turns out, to help create something not from metal and magic. something enjoyable like the boats of his childhood, simply there for entertainment rather than furthering som agenda or serving a grander purpose. the whole hobby angle they spoke of and struggled with, something just for fun.

well, aside from the fact this was obviously a proper literary work in the making. still he looks over to pal with a small smile, arms still brushing as he says,] Thank you, Palamedes.

[for being fun, for sharing it with him- feelings. he doesn't even look down in embarrassment this time, the alcohol enough to ease any nerves in the matter of vulnerability.]

me writing this tag: and in the bg, the school janitor off shift saw everything

[megatheorem]

[A short nod, equally not giving the Eighth's garbage mouth any actual importance. He'd called them a few things himself and settled on "consistent," which is not a compliment, and they aren't here now, besides. He doubts he will ever see the adept of the Eighth, his rude little mouth, or his unfortunate cavalier ever again. The rest of the House, at large, can go screw.

This moment, here, is for Viktor - the nebulous edges of what's simply the alcohol making him feel warm and pleasant and comfortable blend so completely into feeling all of those things without its help. Funny to think that a silly romance-slash-heist-slash-action novel has done this, but Palamedes isn't fool enough to discount Viktor. That it's specifically Viktor sitting here and not someone else — for one thing, the silly novel would have been different.]

I didn't have help the first time, [he offers, with a grateful softness.] All this might have taken me ages on my own.

[Which - quality remains to be seen, but having another mind is the point. Viktor says thank you, and he smiles, and Palamedes' fingers twitch. He recalls with perfect clarity even now the monotony and loneliness of spending weeks into months isolated, with only a stupid romance novel and a pencil for company. Call it that memory, call it the alcohol, call it Viktor's smile close enough to touch — an amalgam of any of those draws Palamedes in, twitchy fingers brushing Viktor's arm, then his elbow, then his shoulder in a manner of moments, tugging him into an earnest hug.

He's grateful, and unabashed, and swimming in just enough liquor that his carefully sorted compartments can spill into the forefront unbidden and he can get a little messy. This, of course, is messy. Ahem.]

Thank you, [he says somewhere in the vicinity of Viktor's ear, hi,] I'm telling you, you're good. I might even say gifted.

asdfa tipping his hat to them and hoping they just go to the backrooms this time, please be sensible

[mehanizovati]

[viktor supposes that makes sense, surely writing is usually a single person's endeavor rather than a group activity. after this evening something about it feels a little lonely though, so his lips quirk further in something like satisfaction at being able to be a part of things.

before he can say anything to that effect pal is pulling him in, and he blinks in confusion before- oh. they're hugging, pal's hugging him. jayce did sometimes but it was few and far between, usually saved for ecstatic moments of discovery in late night lab sessions. it's funny their story can be like one of those discoveries, that the gratitude can come simply from viktor appreciating what they did together.

he lifts his arms to return it, face warm in a way that is surely the alcohol. his grip is tighter than he realizes, maybe clinging a little to the moment before it's gone.

pal is good at hugs, he thinks, though maybe it's just pal is pal and that's all it really takes. which is something to unpack that he'll steadfastly not unpack in coming days, laughing quietly, breath probably brushing somewhere near pal's neck]

Any time. It's eh... it's not a bad hobby. [he murmurs. the issue of letting go is solved when a wolf whistle from a passerby startles him enough to pull back a little, hands still on pal's arms and still a touch flushed. from the alcohol. he squints at the offender before looking to pal with a chuckle, shaking his head.]

[megatheorem]

[Palamedes is excellent at hugs, for those who can appreciate skinny arms and a bit of a clutch. He's been sorely missing this much earnestly close contact since all but attaching himself to Camilla, months ago when she was here, and for an extended moment he simply wants to appreciate the physicality of it as much as he's appreciating Viktor. The lingering desire to reaffirm his own, hm, solidity after unceremoniously coming back from the dead hasn't completely gone away in a mere two weeks, who knew—

But those thoughts are for later, when he's feeling philosophical. This is Viktor, warm and a little clingy - a muted surprise that makes Palamedes quirk a smile, unseen - and breath against his neck, which is centering in a wholly different way than the philosophical, conveniently for his peace of mind.

He lingers on that, is still lingering on it when someone whistles and Viktor pulls back - but not all the way, which he'll linger on in turn. Is public hugging on the sexy party level, here in Trench? Huh!

Or: he boggles a bit, like he's just remembered there are other people in the room, hands lingering on Viktor in the same way.]

Oh; we're causing a scene. [Haha, hardly, and he looks at Viktor again with a flash of a grin.] You know, writing wasn't on the list.

[Why do they even make lists. He lingers close to Viktor for a moment too long, before letting go with a pang of - of something or other, to be put in its own box and considered later. The napkin gets folded up tidily and stuck in his pocket, and he looks at the empty glasses. Hmm.]

Do you want another drink? [like... he Could... but Should they, is the big question.]

[mehanizovati]

No- to be fair I do not think I'd enjoy it on my own. [it is fun like this though, specifically with pal and his easy humor and quick wit. he swallows as he pulls back himself, trying not to linger on the odd pang of loss.

normal of course, humans tend to crave contact. pal's voice close to his ear is just something he'll remember too well for too long.

his attention goes to their glasses as the music changes, a helpless, amused exhale as he leans in just a little to admit like a secret,] Between you and me I think the alcohol is just a bit stronger than assumed. [not drunk at least, which he thinks they probably both would be if they had another glass.

he isn't sure he wants to be drunk but he doesn't really want this series of moments to end either, so he offers,] If we do Rio might need to help us home. I am... not against this, though it would likely be wiser to leave.

[megatheorem]

[He hums in vague agreement; yeah, no, it was pretty much out of boredom and desperation that he took up writing entire goofy novels in the first place, this makes sense.]

Is it? We did pick based on color. I utterly failed at tracking my alcohol response. [Geniuses. He picks up his empty glass to peer at it, as if that will help him determine just how much alcohol is sitting in each of them right now. A lot? Enough? He doesn't feel drunk - but then, he isn't entirely sure what "drunk" feels like, having only the one prior experience with pink fizzy drinks. Warm and pleasant feels good, and he glances at Viktor, considering what to do now.

It's not that he feels a powerful need to clear his head of the warm and pleasant haze, but going home sounds... dull? A waste of some restless energy he's always got.]

Let's not put Rio through the chore of dealing with us.

[... But,] Are you up for some sightseeing? In the dark.

[mehanizovati]

I think we're tipsy. Warmth, vaguely lowered inhibitions but not to any extreme, etc. [he vaguely ticks off the list with his fingers, decides against going into the chemistry of it because he isn't sure he wants to know what they actually just drank. it tasted way too organic to be anything he's used to, and that's a little alarming to think about.

he nods along, that is the responsible, smart thing to do. a bit of a shame but- ah, then pal offers that and he perks up a bit.]

It's always dark. And I haven't seen this area before. [and it'd clear their heads along with prolonging the night. he reaches for his crutch, using it to pull himself up with only a minimal wobble before offering his hand to pal.] Shall we?

[megatheorem]

[Already failed step one: no blood powder, huh-- Palamedes makes a face, like he both desperately wants to write this down so please save it for later, but he also wants to hear Viktor list off the Tipsy Attributes? For reference? Woe is Palamedes, stuck at a nerd impasse.]

You haven't? I want to get a better look at that massive bloodstone they've hung on the front of the other establishment we passed— the opulent one.

[Which means he wants to climb up there and chip off pieces, but since that's probably a crime that would get them banned from Cellar Door for an arbitrary amount of time, he'll settle for sitting outside and looking up at it.

But, ah- he takes the offered hand (warm and a little electric, thanks cocktails) and stands, immediately swaying in a way that makes his eyebrows go up and his other hand windmill a little, oop-]

Oh, [he manages, good god,] Well, I'm beginning to understand the overall effect. Let's go.

[mehanizovati]

That is a bloodstone? Like the gems we're studying? [viktor's immediately interested- hell, even if it's a normal stone it's kind of a Lot to look at. and if it extends the pleasant evening he's not complaining.

he's also wondering about how terrible it would be just get a little sample, so the life of crime is really thriving in the trench it seems.

viktor keeps a tight grasp on his hand when he sways, hoping to keep him steady and hardly against prolonged contact besides. he is not drunk enough to admit how much the hug reminded him he misses casual contact and has never had any idea how to gracefully initiate it. certainly not drunk enough to think of contact with pal specifically needs its own classification, because he keeps wanting to linger in ways he never did before.

he chuckles, reluctantly letting go when pal steadies himself.] If you feel unsteady on your feet I can still call Rio. [a pause] Or you can hold my arm. This crutch is sturdier than it looks.

[megatheorem]

I'm about ninety percent certain it is. [And it's so large! Damn! Surely no one will miss a sliver— but no, they'll start by just looking at it. The bloodstone isn't even an excuse to extend this 'celebration' by wandering around some more, he really wants to stare at it. But if, as a bonus...

Hmm. Well, he's steadied, taking an experimental step side-to-side, to be sure he can remain upright. The whole world does not lurch up to meet him, which is a good sign; he can make it to the big rock, at the very least.]

We'll see; thanks. [wait.] Sorry, did you outdrink me that quickly? Am I really that much of a lightweight?

[Oh god, he is... that bodes well for the next party thrown by teens with lots of tequila he's going to get strongarmed into, doesn't it. He sighs, very put-upon by his garbage tolerance, and sidles around the table to the other side. Still upright; ten points. Disingenuously pretending he needs a hand is embarrassing, but who knows, in the dark...]

[mehanizovati]

I have about a dozen questions about how a gem of that size is made, and many of them raise alarming possibilities. [viktor says as if that amuses him. massive creatures making them? made from the blood of countless people? not particularly funny, but dark humor is a coping mechanism more than a good time anyway.

and it's interesting, so that helps.

he watches pal move, easing before nodding for them to head to the exit. it's just as crowded as when they came in and he has to wonder if the perpetual night has been a boon for the place. personally he's sick of how skewed his sense of time has become.]

Probably, I am sorry to say. Neither of us have the muscle mass for it and I am getting the idea that drinking isn't something you are accustomed to- thus, lightweight status. [he glances over, making sure they don't get separated in the crowd.] Does the Sixth not have much in the way of liquor?