[PM to Join] Natural Disasters

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

Chrysanthe grinned at Baz when he echoed her joke Charlie’s joke calling them old didn’t phase her; Chrysanthe laughed at it. They had been out of Brunnhold for four years now, and she had cherished each of them. She felt a brief pang of curiosity at Charlie’s actual age - surely to have generated so many stories he must have been in the Rose for two or three years? She rather hoped it wasn’t only one; the thought, and the pace of dissolution it implied, was nearly frightening. If, Chrysanthe thought, if his stories were true. The odd thing was that she suspected they were - at least in part.

They couldn’t be all true, Chrysanthe decided. Charlie couldn’t really have made a habit or following strangers down Voedale alleys - or even an exception of it. She couldn’t quite imagine the sort of urges that would drive one to such dark places. Abruptly she became aware that some part of her wanted it to be a joke.

But Charlie was laughing and grinning and - perhaps it was the beer - but Chrysanthe found it rather easy to dismiss such concerns, after all or else at least for a little while. It was a story, she told herself. Bits were true and bits were not, and it wasn’t her place any way to fuss over him. He was an adult; surely he could handle himself. Anyway, she had the oddest feeling he had rather enjoyed her consternation.

The appearance of the waitress was as unexpected as it was pleasant, involving not only Charlie’s meal, but also all the drinks they had ordered.

Chrysanthe finished another pickled vegetable, and then took a small, polite sip of her beer, and then a second one, larger and longer. It really was rather good. She set the glass back down, and went back to her also rather good food. For a moment the three of them were all rather cheerfully occupied in eating and drinking, before Baz brought them back to the story.

Why? Baz had asked. Chrysanthe set her fork down and sat back with her beer, turning back to Charlie. She was in the middle of a sip when he went on to discuss big hands, and it was frankly catastrophic. Chrysanthe snorted, caught in a laugh; beer came fizzing out of her nose.

Chrysanthe shrieked; she doubled forward, grabbing a napkin and pressing it rather urgently to her face. There was a bit of beer splattered on the table, and she didn’t dare look at the floor. Worse, her nose burned rather awfully.

Worse still, she couldn’t stop laughing.

“Oh good lady,” Chrysanthe gasped, straightening up and wiping at her damp eyes, sniffling painfully. “I’m - I really do apologize -“ she collapsed into another fit of laughter, shoulders shaking helplessly.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

Baz regretted asking for Charlie's motivations almost immediately. He should have seen it coming, really, if only in the expression on Charlie's face. Given what he knew of the other man, there really was no other plausible reason he could have for following someone down a dark alley. Large hands he said. Of course that was it. He swallowed a bit of sandwich awkwardly in his surprise and coughed slightly, but he was nowhere near as caught off-guard by Charlie's revelation as Chrysanthe was. There was a spray of beer and a sharp shriek of alarm as the liquid came out her nose. Baz stared at her and the mess she had made in shock for a moment, before he started laughing. Rather hard, too. He felt a bit bad, but it really was funny. She was laughing herself, so he didn't feel as bad as he would have had she not been. He reached over, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked, "I can't imagine that felt good."

He donated his napkin to the cause of mopping up the spray over the table. The floor had likely seen worse in it's time, so he didn't worry too much about that. Once the table was dry, he looked back to Charlie with a bit of mischievous look in his eye. He held up one of his own freckled hands, which were also quite big, owing to his stature.

He made sure Chrys was not in the middle of another sip of beer before saying, "I guess we know your type, then."

It was a joke at his own expense as much as Charlie's, and lewd to boot, but considering the direction of the conversation, he didn't feel like it was out of line. Chrysanthe already knew they had slept together. It wasn't anything new or particularly scandalous. It was, perhaps, surprising for it to be coming from him, but it had popped into his head and he thought it quite funny. His expression was one of slightly smug self-satisfaction as he took a drink of his Neverbetter.

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

The bit about "big hands" had been intended mostly for Baz; he wasn't quite sure what Chrysanthe would make of it, if anything at all. What Charlie would have predicted might be the result of such a comment was something along the lines of Baz turning some kind of shade of red, possibly looking away or politely trying to redirect the subject. Chrysanthe might have done the same, he supposed, although the full force of his regard was mostly for the other man. The man whose hands and the relative size thereof, as well as other things, Charlie was too happy to remind him he had in fact had a chance to make a study of.

So the snort-choke of a laugh from Chrysanthe had seemed an added bonus. The beer she snorted out along with the laughter? The shriek? That wasn't a bonus, because a bonus you could work towards. She pressed a napkin to her face, but couldn't seem to collect herself. Baz, of course, reached out and touched her shoulder, asking her if she was all right.

Charlie? Charlie broke out into a fit of laughter of his own. Real laughter, too, not the rounded, artful sort of noise he had perfected over the years and used as an adequate substitute. Charlie's real laugh was wonderful too, by his own estimation, but it was a bit more awkward. He cut it off with some more of his gin, but the grin persisted.

"Absolutely vile," he said rather cheerfully, looking from Chrysanthe, to the table, to the floor and then back again at her. Charlie shoveled another forkful of pie into his mouth, chewing before he continued. "If you die now, you'll never hear the end of the story. This was only the beginning of the night."

Honestly, Baz was so understanding and nice about, well, seemingly everything that the joke almost didn't register. He held up one of those freckled hands and then looked to Charlie in a mischievous sort of way. It was almost enough to make Charlie consider breaking one of his Rules: he tried, as much as possible, not to fuck the same person twice. This was a lesser Rule that he broke quite often, with sufficient motivation. Alas, he thought they were rather rapidly on the path to the most important rule of all: he absolutely didn't fuck anyone he actually liked.

"You're very close to knowing, yes." Charlie wasn't the least bit shy on this subject, given the right context. He let his gaze turn considering, despite the fact that he hardly needed to evaluate anything in this moment; it hadn't even been a month since he'd seen it all anyway. What a shame. If only he hadn't made that joke.

He turned back to Chrysanthe, taking a slow sip of his gin. "If you're sufficiently recovered, I can continue. I shall do my best to be less charming and entertaining in the future. I make no promises," he said solemnly, "but I shall try. For your sake."

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

The thing about shooting beer out of your nose, Chrysanthe had learned, was that it really was rather painful. That was, naturally, in addition to the dreadful inelegance of it, and the fundamental indignity it entailed. At least, she rather thought Baz likely to be sympathetic, and Charlie probably more amused than anything; Chrysanthe could have shuddered at the idea that this would make it into one of his stories some day, told to some unsuspecting audience.

But just at the moment, she was preoccupied with how much her nose managed to hurt. She couldn’t imagine any sort of permanent damage had been done, but it rather felt, just then, as if it might have.

Even still, it wasn’t really enough to keep her from laughing. Baz was patting her shoulder, and Chrysanthe grinned rather helplessly at him, tears stinging in the corners of her eyes. “I think so,” she sniffled, and grimaced, patting her nose with her napkin. “Circle, that was awful,” Chrysanthe said, and began to laugh again.

Charlie was fairly roaring with laughing; he was shaking with it, and looked about as cheerful as Chrysanthe had ever seen him, and perhaps more so.

Chrysanthe coughed one last time, sitting back with a groan. At least she hadn’t wasted too much of her beer, she thought dubiously, and her food seemed all right; it could have been much worse. She narrowed her eyes at Charlie when he said she’d miss the end of the story if she died now, and suppressed the exceptionally childish urge to stick her tongue out at him.

“Good Lady,” Chrysanthe sighed. Gingerly, she picked up her beer and took a small sip; somehow, the whole experience didn’t seem to have put her off. Actually, she felt rather a strengthening of her desire to become more intoxicated. Baz was glancing over at her, and, uncertain, Chrysanthe swallowed the last of her beer and raised her eyebrows at him.

His joke didn’t make her snort again; Charlie looked rather thoughtful, and gave something adjacent to a serious answer, which Chrysanthe really could rather have done without. She grimaced, but it didn’t last long, and she found herself – embarrassments aside – rather enjoying herself. She couldn’t think of the last time she’d laughed so hard; she couldn’t think of the last time she’d had so much – well – fun.

Chrysanthe settled her plate in front of herself once more, and turned back to Charlie. “How thoughtful of you,” Chrysanthe managed, her lips quirking in a smile. She scooped up more of her ham with cheese and added a pickle to the bread this time, studying the whole, and then looked back at Charlie.

“Well, then,” Chrysanthe cleared her throat. “You and your large handed self-professed serial killer were wandering the canals of Cat’s Paw – am I to assume you were wearing more than just his coat? Or does that not come until later in the story?” She raised her eyebrows, challenging,

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

Baz seemed the slightest bit disappointed when his joke didn’t go over as well as he’d hoped. He shrugged it off easily enough, though, downing a bit more of his beer. He was starting to feel the alcohol now, the warm, fuzzy buzzing at the fringes of his mind. It had been slowed by the — really rather passable — chicken sandwich and the fact that their waitress had been rather slow on bringing them their drinks. Baz had not spotted her again since she had dropped off the rest of their order.

There were only a few places following a tall, serial killing stranger through Cat’s Paw could go, and as Charlie sat before the two of them living and breathing, that eliminated one of the options. As this mystery man had given Charlie his overcoat, that also — at least in Baz’s opinion — eliminated mugging as an option. Through that process of elimination, Baz had some idea of where this story would end up. He was fairly certain the particulars would surprise him, though. He took another bite of his sandwich and waited for Charlie to continue, green-gold eyes fixed on him expectantly.

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

"Madam," Charlie said, laying a hand solemnly over his breast, "I am always thoughtful." He held the expression for only a moment before it dissolved back into a crooked grin.

Baz seemed slightly disappointed in Charlie's response to his unexpected joke. Charlie found it very nearly charming, and made note of it for future use. He was sure there would be some use for such information; there always was. He took another bite of his pie and a swallow of his gin before he continued.

Charlie snorted at her challenge, waggling his fork admonishingly in her direction. "You're trying to spoil the ending," he said accusingly, "and I'm not going to let you. I was indeed wearing something other than a serial killer's coat. I was not undressed in the bar... this time."

Charlie didn't actually think he'd been undressed in any bar, not entirely. Something to add to the list, he thought. He couldn't quite imagine the circumstances that would lead him to be in such a state, in such a place, but where there was a will there was a way. Or whatever it was they said. He was having trouble remembering, all loose and warm at the bottom of his second gin sling. Near the bottom of his pie, too.

"Now, where was I...? Ah. Yes. Following him through dark alleyways. We were on a journey you see. To dissolution." He went on a bit about the walk over, a descent into some sort of blue-lit underworld full of bootleg liquor and smoke. He remembered the walk over fairly well, at least.

Truthfully, he didn't remember much about what happened on the other side of that door, or the imitation thereof that was being called a door. He had been, perhaps, in a bit over his head. He remembered a cat, and laughter, and all that business about the hunter. Narkissos, or whatever it was they'd insisted on calling him all night. Narkissos, All-Ewing. He also remembered his vague indignation, which he elaborated on for Baz and Chrysanthe. Well, no, he elaborated on it for himself, because he thought it might get a reaction out of one or the other of them. Ideally both.

"Now, really, can you believe it? All of that, and I had to ask. Absurd. You can both see me. You can imagine my distress and confusion, I'm sure." He paused, both because he wanted to finish off the last of his dinner before it could fully congeal and because he wanted to see what the both of them thought about the story so far.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

Chrysanthe’s nose was still burning somewhat, an odd and unpleasant feeling that went up into her nostrils and sort of into her face. She drank a bit more of her beer, and went back to her food, rather grateful that the mess hadn’t been larger. Rather unfortunately, she did think the floor had had worse, though she was sorry to have contributed so all the same. Rather sincerely, she hoped she never did so again.

Chrysanthe shook her head, grinning amid Charlie’s protestations. Circle, but she hoped a story about him naked in the middle of a bar wasn’t coming next; this was surely enough. He seemed to be enjoying Baz’s presence enough; Chrysanthe certainly was. She shot her friend a warm, amused smile; she really had missed him, even if she found herself newly skeptical about his taste in men. Then again, Chrysanthe thought wryly, he had every right to question her taste in friends - unfortunately for him, he was himself in the same category.

Charlie went on with his story, enthusiastic and vigorous, describing his descent into the pirate sector of the Rose, and into what sounded very much like a drug den. There were such places in the Dives of Vienda as well; Chrsyanthe, though she knew and like some bars in the area around the factory, avoided such people and places as he described scrupulously and with deliberate care. If that made her boring, Chrysanthe felt, then perhaps she didn’t mind the title.

She had, Chrysanthe conceded, had some rather unusual experiences in Gior. She had told Charlie about one, wandering the caverns high with a woman she fancied, and trying to get home with her without altering their professor. She could perhaps had thought of another story or two to share along similar lines and intensities.

All of it seemed rather to pale in comparison to the story Charlie was telling. Even if it was exaggerated, Chrysanthe thought uneasily, if the basic premise was true, he had really rather put himself in danger. It was impressive, in some level - it must, truly, have been an adventure - but at the same time it was sort of worrisome.

“Distress indeed,” Chrysanthe raised her eyebrows. “Let me see - he led you on a tour of cat’s paws worst alleyways, threatened you, and sat by as his friends teased you. Good lady,” she paused, her lips twitching. “His hands must have been huge,” Chrysanthe said, a little amused skepticism creeping into her voice.

She took another sip of her beer; her food was nearly gone, and she was coming to the last of the beer. This one hasn’t hit as hard as the one before it, although in total Chrysanthe was still rather drunker than she thought, perhaps, she ought to have been.

[Sebastian Morgenstern]

Bethas 18, 2720

Somewhere Cheap, evening.

The direction of Charlie's story had, in fact, been quite unsurprising. He hadn't quite expected the drug den or the pirates. He remembered the night he had met Charlie, and how he had said that picking up — or he supposed being picked up by — strange men in bars wasn't unusual to him when Baz had brought it up. He caught the smile Chrysanthe gave him, and though it was friendly and warm, he got the distinct impression that underneath that, she was judging him for his decision. Don't look at me like that, he wanted to say, he was very pretty and very willing. He didn't feel like he would make the same choice again, at least not without significant encouragement. Not that Charlie wasn't pretty now, in the lights of the bar, all angles and sharpness, but Baz couldn't shake the feeling that hanging around him might turn out to be a bad idea in the end. He supposed that there might not be any avoiding it now that they shared a mutual friend, but it wouldn't give Chrys much room to judge him anymore if she ended up wrapped up in the same bad idea.

He had finished his sandwich by the point in the story where Charlie complained about having to ask, after all he'd been through up to that point. Baz snickered into the bottom of his Neverbetter. You both can see me, Charlie said, plaintively. He laughed a little bit harder when Chrysanthe mentioned the size of the man’s hands again.

“Well, it was a thrilling ride, I’m sure.” he said.

There was a double entendre there, and he realized it shortly after the words left his mouth. He was sure Charlie would find it and get some amusement out of it. The alcohol was buzzing in his head enough that he didn’t actually care. He was pleasantly warm and in good company, which he always tended to enjoy. However, the food and drinks were nearing their end, and he supposed the evening was as well. He leaned back in his seat, looking between the two of them.

“I asked before, but I didn’t get a straight answer, really,” he said, “What are you two up to for the rest of the evening?”

[Charlie Ewing]

Bethas 18, 2720 - Evening
Somewhere Cheap

Charlie must have been more drunk than he thought. He blinked, and he frowned at Chrysanthe's comment. Well, part of it—he understood most of it, even through the third gin. He felt only a little bit drunk, but he still couldn't understand what she was implying. What else would Tom had done? "Sat by" implied a lack of action that might otherwise have been taken.

"They were," Charlie said, still a bit confused. "He was teasing me too," Charlie added helpfully. Perhaps that was the point of misunderstanding. He was used to it, he didn't say, because that sounded terribly depressing and he didn't really think it was. Depressing, that is. She was teasing him, right now. This was a little different, he wasn't that stupid, but still.

So a bunch of bootlegging wicks hadn't seen the sparkle of his soul, or whatever the fuck. Didn't matter, did it? The point of the whole story hadn't been a magical tale about making friends. Just a weird night of weirder fun. Charlie had the sudden certainty that Chrysanthe thought her story about Gior was, in fact, wild.

"And it was!" Charlie continued cheerfully, grinning in Baz's direction. If that had been a joke on purpose, Charlie would have been rather surprised. Baz would probably also think that, about Gior. Charlie didn't know the other man well; he didn't, honestly, know him much at all. He just got that impression. The man sort of radiated good-natured charm, like a golden retriever. That liked bird watching. And had freckles. More handsome than a golden retriever. Charlie was getting off-topic, even inside his own head.

There was that question again, about what they were doing. Charlie had truthfully not really thought the evening would go much beyond dinner. But he sat there looking at the two of them, and he was overcome with pity. That simply wouldn't do. He knocked back the rest of his gin; there was still a bit left of his pie, but he was done with that too. Charlie leaned forward and put both of his hands squarely on the table. He looked first to Chrysanthe, and then from her to Baz.

"We," he declared in a tone that left no mystery about him meaning all three of them, "are going somewhere fun." Charlie grinned wide and crooked. The points of his teeth caught a flash of light and he raised his eyebrows. Luckily for them, these two absolutely dull people who had clearly never had much of a real adventure in their lives, they knew him now. And Charlie was nothing if not magnanimous.

[Chrysanthe Palmifer]

Evening, Bethas 18, 2720
Somewhere Cheap

Chrysanthe didn’t, thankfully, spew anymore beer onto the table or the floor, whether out of her nose or her mouth, but she did laugh a little at Baz’s comment, as he had laughed at hers. That was good; drinking her first beer and all the rest of the second had thoroughly taken the edge off, but she still felt she had embarrassed herself quite sufficiently for the evening, even if Charlie and Baz hadn’t been too awful about it.

Charlie seemed a bit put off, or else confused. It sounded, Chrysanthe felt, like rather an awful evening, whether one had sex at the end or not. There was teasing and there was teasing, Chrysanthe felt. Perhaps it was only the way that Charlie had told it, but this didn’t sound friendly in the least, not to her. Perhaps one just had to have been there.

“We really hadn’t made plans,” Chrysanthe said, smiling at Baz. Let’s have another drink, she might have suggested, over the remnants of her dinner and the remaining half of her second beer. Here or elsewhere - she rather liked the bar, all told, but they could find somewhere with better chairs, maybe, and a warm fire or something. She didn’t want to ditch Charlie, really, but she did want to talk to Baz; it had been a very long time, and she was really pleased to see him.

Charlie interjected instead, firmly and decisively. Chrysanthe laughed, looking at him, taking it as a joke for half a second. Somewhere fun, he said, looking even more pleased with himself than usual, his eyes sparkling and his slightly crooked teeth gleaming in the light.

“Well,” Chrysanthe said. She thought it over. She was beginning to have a sense of what fun meant to him, but she didn’t think he would - not really, not somewhere like that awful drug den he’d described. In fact, the Ugly Duckling had been rather a delight, if a bit unexpected and more than a little embarrassing in retrospect; she had, certainly, had fun, and more than she had in a long time.

Besides, tomorrow was a nine. She had, of course, planned to go to the factory, but she didn’t really need to; she could get the work done on the ten, if she was really too hungover for it tomorrow. There wasn’t any reason to turn in early and get a good night of sleep, or anything of the sort. Chrysanthe tucked her newly short hair behind her ear, and smiled.

“All right,” Chrysanthe said, and then she even laughed. She was sure there were various reasons to refuse, and concerns she should have had; she couldn’t think of any just now. She glanced over at Baz, raising her eyebrows and smiling, half in invitation and half in challenge.

How bad could it be, Chrysanthe thought to herself, a little amused, really?