[ OPEN ] willkommen, bienvenue, welcome

[feintofhart]

Who: The Adults Of Aldrip
Where: A handy dandy bar!
What: Claude has collaborated with one of the local bar-owners to host a Chosen-only night for the adults of Aldrip to have a nice night away from the prying eyes of locals.
Warnings: Alcohol, drug-use, grown men making embarrassments of themselves, potential hand-holding.



Welcome one and all to a place where the Chosen are able to unbutton that top button, sit back, and relax, free of the badgering eyes of locals, and able to mingle amongst like minds! Your local Apothecarist, Claude von Riegan, came up with this idea with one of the local bar-owners as a good way to drum up business amidst the Chosen for a place for the Chosen and the Chosen alone to be able to shed some of that weight they've been carrying. Claude himself has made no secret of the fact that he's the one who put this shindig together, openly advertising it as something of his own creation, a community building effort for everyone to bond with one another in a context in which they're not forced to do so by threat of death or imprisonment.

For this evening, liquor has been put out for the Chosen to serve themselves, and runs freely enough that everyone will be able to drink their fill, though there's a table at the back of the room laden with all sorts of bar snacks to help fill people's bellies and soak up some of that liquor; flatbreads and fried delights, a generous selection of meats and cheeses, and confections enough to satisfy even the most demanding sweet tooth.

Along the south end of the bar there are a collection of booths, far enough away from the booming sound system to be able to chat quietly amongst themselves, if you're the more retiring sort and would just like to have a nice talk over a pint or two. In this area, you may also find a few hookahs at your disposal, filled with tobacco or hashish, courtesy of Claude himself -- though he hasn't shied away from cheekily including business cards at each table, advertising his place of business should you wish to purchase teas, salves, potions, and yes, all manner of smokable delights.

In the centre of the establishment, chairs and tables have been cleared away to make room for dancing, if you so please, with the sound system at the Chosen's disposal if they want to pump up the beats or put on a slow song to rock to and fro with a honey or two (or three?).

Lastly, there's a brand new karaoke machine that's been installed along the far east corner of the room, in case anyone would like to thoroughly embarrass themselves. What do you mean, you're a good singer? Then get out of here! You should know by now that that's not what the spirit of karaoke is about!

If there's anything else you would like added, dear player -- just write it in, and it's yours! Whatever can feasibly fit into a bar, you can assume it's present for all and sundry to enjoy.

Comments

[finalfrontiersman]

[ To be fair, Jim wasn't exactly expecting it out of himself, either. It worries him that it’s crossed his mind. Maybe, in part, because he already knows the answer - whatever he might wish, when the opportunity presented itself, Jim would take it. He would go home, to the people relying on him - and nothing he built here could change that.

At least, that’s what Jim is telling himself. Maybe if he repeats it enough, it’ll become true.

But it’s hard to say for sure, when the things he wants - maybe things he’s always wanted, in some fashion, only that he was blind to the wanting, before - are being dangled in front of his face. Some things are tempting enough that even the strongest of wills are not necessarily inured to them.

Claude doesn’t judge him for it - he looks surprised, intrigued perhaps - but if he’s judging Jim, he’s keeping it to himself. Jim appreciates that, even inebriated as he is. He didn’t think that Claude was the type who would, and it just confirms the theory. ]

Stopping me staying? Responsibility. The people I left behind. [ Jim’s hand becomes agitated, fluffing up the hair on the back of his head. ] It’s not a choice. I know I would have to go back - I would go back. It’s just a matter of how difficult I’m making it for myself to actually go through with it.

[ Stopping him going? Well, that one’s simple: Spock. Jim’s gaze slides to him, across the room - doing something over by the bar, probably writing in one of his notebooks. His dilemma is…obvious. ] It won’t be the same, back home. It never can be.

[ No matter what this Spock says, in Jim’s universe, that Spock is all set to have Vulcan babies with his communications officer (well, okay, they’re only dating, but still. Vulcans didn’t do things without long-term intent.) There is no room for Jim and all his fucked up bullshit in that equation, and if soulmates are real - well, perhaps the Spock from his universe is riding the platonic soulmate train, even if Jim didn’t get the memo.

Jim groans and thunks his head on the table, in part to stop himself staring across the room like a lovesick puppy. It kind of smarts, but he’s got enough of an emotional headache that the physical ache is nice. ] Can I go back to drinking yet?

[feintofhart]

Caught on, did you?

[ He waves the bottle from its neck, but doesn't relinquish its hold. ]

I don't envy your position, Jim. But if I can say... [ He pauses, tilting his head in thought. He's always been so steadfast in his own ambitions, his own dreams, his own goals -- but only because he's in a unique position to achieve them, because without him the rest of it simply falls apart. He's the only one of his father's sons that doesn't have the aspiration to conquer Fodlan, the only one of Leicester's nobles who wishes to forge peace with Almyra, the last bastion between the Empire and total annihilation. He has to do it, because nobody else can.

Jim may feel that way. That may well even be the truth. But the universe is a vast place, filled with people better than them, and people worse than them. Is it really accurate that Jim is the only one that can take over those responsibilities? It would be a hard sell indeed to step away from all of that, but Claude wonders if it's as impossible as it may seem. ]

Unless you're truly certain that you and you alone are the only person who can accomplish what you've set out to do... that doesn't mean you can't chase your own happiness as well. Whatever that may look like. There's work to be done here as well, after all.

[ He sets the bottle on the table. ]

And speaking of that happiness - [ he's being heavy-handed here, but it's not his fault when none are as heavy-handed as Jim himself ] - if you'd like to help Spock, I think a good start would be to avoid getting any drunker. He'd seemed concerned enough earlier in the evening without you getting any deeper into your cups.

[finalfrontiersman]

You're cute, not subtle.

[ Smart man, not giving it back to him. Claude reminds him of Bones a lot of the time. They're of the same sort of stock, and not putting up with Jim's bullshit is a prerequisite to the 'friend' category, whether Jim likes it or not (he'll like it in the morning, when his hangover is half as bad as it could have been).

But when Claude speaks, Jim listens. Turns his cheek upon his arm, blue-eyed gaze fixed on Claude - surprisingly alert, for the amount of liquor he's consumed. The conversation is perhaps enough to sober him. Claude can be...something of an enigma; asking questions, giving away just enough information about himself to fly under the radar without giving away too much. Jim knows the type, hell, he's been there himself. It just means when Jim does earn his trust in return, it'll be hard-won, well worth it. ]

There is. [ That's an easy enough agreement, his brow furrowing briefly in thought. There's so much to do, so much they still don't know. Some problems he can fix, and some he can't; sometimes it's just hard to determine which is which.

Jim groans again, this time in mock petulance, rolling his forehead to the cool of the table before he picks himself up out of his slouch, metaphorically dusting off. ] You're worse than my conscience, you know that? Yeah, you're probably right. I'm going to have my first hangover since I was thirteen tomorrow because this place doesn't even have the good drugs.

Concerned about what? [ Jim adds the question as an afterthought, scrubbing a hand over his face to try and look more presentable. ] He's the one we should be concerned about, whatever mind fuckery that piss-poor excuse for a judicial system forced on him -

[ He's getting angry again on Spock's behalf, and Jim cuts off the tirade with a sigh, tracing a fingertip over the grain of the wood instead. He already punched a tree, no use getting worked up in a bar. ]

[feintofhart]

Awww. I knew you thought I was cute.

[ Claude bats his lashes at Jim, making a show of primping and preening, winding one of the unruly curls that wasn't caught by a liberal application of hair gel around his finger coquettishly, if not only to distract the poor man a little from what happens to be plaguing him.

When he first arrived here, he caught on quickly to the fact that they were trapped away from home, and all the difficulties that came with it. What he hadn't bet on is the fact that this place would force you into hours of goddamned introspection for what feels like hours at a time, ruminating the world and your role in it -- he sympathizes with Jim and Spock, being forced into confronting things that may have gone better left untouched. Not forever. Just for a few more months, maybe. ]

Drop by my shop on your way home, and I'll fix you up but good with a hangover remedy, provided it works well with your system. [ Has he been looped in on Jim's allergy problems? Yes. Yes, he has. Does he know what the man's allergic to? Not a clue. ]

More importantly... it's that attitude right there that's concerning him. He doesn't like to watch you drink yourself half to death. And if I may be so bold as to hedge my bets, he especially doesn't like to see you do it on his behalf. Sometimes dealing with something like this is difficult enough without having to deal with other people's reactions to it, as well-meant as they are.

[ He grabs a jug and refills Jim's glass of water. ]

If you asked for my advice - which you didn't, but I'm irritating enough to offer it unsolicited - I'd tell you both to just try to take your minds off of it. Go home. Eat something. Play a game of chess, and keep conversation light. Everything else can be dealt with when he's no longer under this spell.

At least, that's what I would have wanted, when it happened to me.

[finalfrontiersman]

[ Claude's antics do manage to get a genuine snort-laugh out of Jim, smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. It does the job of cutting the tension, getting that piano wire Jim seems to have pulled tight in his spine to loosen, even if only an iota.

Aldrip, the Council - this whole place seems almost designed for it, and Jim doesn't know what to think about that. The question of how has always and forever shall be less important than the question of why; both of which Jim can't answer, and it's maddening. It's either spin in a circle with that, or the fact that Spock was due for a horny rage session in T-minus six and a half years, and Jim was down with volunteering as tribute. Do you see why he's drinking? ]

Is it pink? [ Jim eyes Claude critically for a moment; it's not a secret that he's allergic to everything under the sun (any sun, not just the usual one), but he doesn't recall whether or not they've had this conversation. One guess as to where else that kind of information might have come from. ] My doctor has this cute little phrase: 'If it's pink, rethink.' Not sure how scientific it is, but it hasn't failed me yet, so I have to give it to him.

Nobody asked him to watch. [ Jim's grumble is low, but he still submits to Claude's logic, accepting the glass back with a quiet thanks. He takes a measured sip, cutting his gaze away from Spock at the bar, back to Claude, the knowing look on his face. ] Kicking me out already? I thought you said I was the draw for this place. Find someone younger and prettier already?

[ He sighs again, shoulders slumping, and squints at Claude contemplatively. ] You're right. It's annoying how right you are. This is the exact opposite of 'drinking to forget'.

[feintofhart]

It's green, much like the rest of my remedies, [ Claude says, flashing him a brief smile. That's good knowledge to have on-hand, though, and he makes a mental note of it; there are very few herbs he uses with a pink tinge, but he'll still make sure to keep them well away from the man.

He waves a languid hand in Jim's direction. ]

By all means, my friend, stay if you like -- but you cannot convince me that you're having a nice time here. And as your humble host, it's my duty to ensure that everyone is having a good time, and if they're not? Out on their ass they go. [ He winks at him, trying to keep things like despite... despite all of this. It's a lot to cope with. He knows that. ]

Go home, Jim. Bring your... [ ... ] ...partner with you. Sleep this off, and stay in tomorrow, and wait for this all to wear off. I have a feeling that your conversation probably did the trick in shaking the curse off and, with any luck, the two of you can go back to whatever semblance of normalcy you want to.

[ There's something loaded in that. Some things, once said, cannot be taken back. There are some things they may not want to take back. But that, and all further ruminations on how badly Jim wants to stay with this Spock, is something they can discuss at a further date.

(There is the politician in him that knows that knowing this much is a weapon -- but Jim has trusted him, and as mercenary as Claude can be, he rarely uses anyone's personal affairs against them. His secret is safe with him.) ]

[finalfrontiersman]

Oh well then. If it’s green it must be healthy, right? [ Jim’s no stranger to Claude’s wares, though it’s definitely different from what he’s used to, back home. It reminds him of childhood, picking useful weeds for gnawing on in the fields during the summer. Jim’s own smile softens appreciatively, even if there’s a part of him that doesn’t feel like it can accept the truths Claude has presented him with. It can’t be that easy - not for him, not for them. Nothing ever works that way, in Jim’s experience.

But damn if it isn’t tempting, and hell - Jim’s got nothing to argue it with right now save because, which doesn’t feel like a good enough excuse for the knowing wink Claude is leveraging in his direction. He blows out a breath and nods, head dipping low as he runs a hand over the back of his head. ] …I hope you’re right, for what it’s worth.

[ It is, perhaps, a vulnerable truth, but lately that seems to be all this place has been dragging out of him, and Claude - something about him makes Jim want to trust him. Out of everyone he’s met here, from all walks of life, there’s a kindred spirit in Claude - maybe it’s just wishful thinking and Jim will come to regret it, who knows. Make no mistake, however - if Jim’s proven wrong, there’ll be hell to pay.

Deferring to Claude, Jim slaps the table and lurches to stand. He holds the amount of liquor he drank pretty well, only listing somewhat. Jim points at Claude, raising an eyebrow. ] Next time I’m this drunk, I’m dragging you down with me. I bet you sing, don’t you?

[feintofhart]

Like the sweetest canary you've ever heard. Just don't ask me to sing any more of those blasted Church hymns, and I'll sing to you all day, [ Claude says, shooting Jim a wink, lightning-quick.

He stands alongside Jim, stretching out his back, then takes two strides towards him to thump him into a brief hug, mouth lingering long enough by his ear to say, more quietly, ] This too will pass. Hang in there, and don't let the bastards get you down. That's just letting them win.

[ He thumps Jim on the back, harder than necessary, as they part and offers him a grin. ]

Now, go get that partner of yours and get the hell out of here! I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning for a hangover cure, I'll have you know!

[ And with that, Claude nods cheerily at him and disappears back into the crowd, to do whatever more rubbing of elbows he has to do. ]