[ 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

[feintofhart]

[ Spock still isn't telling him much. Not the specifics he'd need to feel confident in his work, he thinks, not without knowing what the specific environmental factor or factors may be, but if he's not divulging it while underneath a truth spell, then he must not want to share it. Fair enough, though troublesome from a medical standpoint; as the local apothecarist, Claude tends to learn about everyone's embarrassing little problems, from difficulty in the bedroom to unfortunate rashes to sleepless nights, but he's learned to honour what the client wants, should they want it. He notes a few things down in his journal. ]

I'd like you to write me a full list of the symptoms, if you can, and any common medicinal ingredients I should be avoiding in this specific case.

[ He snaps the notebook shut. ]

You'll have to give me some time to gather the ingredients together, but when it comes time to formulate the medication, you can come and provide your expertise. Besides, I imagine you want some time to yourself to recover. [ He laces his fingers together. ] I hear you've gotten hit with a truth spell, of sorts. [ He places a finger over his lips. ] Not to worry. I won't ask anything you're unwilling to answer.

[ashaya]

[ At least he might be assured it is less for the fact that he is reluctant personally, but rather reticent by nature and culture. Alongside the point of medical information and the difficulty of explaining what in the world Jim has endured in ways that would be understandable across any level of scientific innovation (never mind, in a way that would make him ache less to have to explain it) —

He pauses. It is more in the way of his body than it is in the way of his words, stilled already as they are. And yet, something in his dark eyes moves. It flickers, cautious and incisive. For another species, such a look may be categorized as oppressive, but there is no sign of warning in the visceral root of it. There is no threat. But, if there was a doubt of his people's adherence to logic, it shakes itself out here.

When his words come, they seem to circle some greater point. ]

Indeed, [ he confirms. He blinks once, not unlike a Terran housecat. ] I am... Grateful, for your discretion.

[ He is not surprised. He knows where the information seeped from and finds himself at peace with the fact that it was Jim who turned it over. Jim was the more affable, the more inclined to toward giving information that Spock himself hesitated to. But, he had never found himself in question of Jim's decisions to do so. He does not question him here.

And so, Spock decides too. ]

I had thought you may, [ he says, circling back to the former point. He unfolds his hands again, resolving this time not to return to idle habits as he most often does to appease the need to center himself so visibly, before reaching toward his own notebook again to turn to the next page with the precise angling of his thumb beneath its corner. What Claude will see here is more specific still, its writings both neat and with unusual flow. ]

In cross-referencing interactions and adverse effects, these must be avoided. [ He indicates with the tip of his index finger along the left side of the page. The crammed list is full of any usual plants used in traditional medicines, but most notably there is another list to the right that has been bulleted. ] I have also provided a speculative list, which further clarifies which substitutions should likely be discarded based upon genetic similarities to the aforementioned.

[ A beat. He flips neatly to the next page. It should not be particularly shocking to see said symptoms laid in plain. After a moment, he closes it and pushes it further over to Claude's side of the table. ]

You are welcome to this, [ he says, eyes flicking back up to Claude's. ] The notebook. [ And drawing his hand back to rest alongside the other upon the table, he tips to him this: ] I do not need a reference, though I am amenable to your terms.

[feintofhart]

Thanks, I'll take a closer look at this. Later, with a clearer head and a better vision, [ he says, nodding at the revelry around them, their own little corner of the bar lit by faint candlelight. That had been Claude's own request; while he appreciates electricity for what it is, he still gets homesick from time to time, relishing the familiarity of a table lit by the flame's warm glow.

Despite his words, he can't seem to help himself from devouring what's written, eyes darting rapidly back and forth, as he skims the page. ] Sorry, let me just...

[ It's not long enough to read it. But enough to skim it, even his desire to speak with Spock about his predicament falling second to what he calls a thirst for knowledge, and what Hilda calls tried-and-true nosiness. Spock's an interesting fellow, with a lot of information rattling around in his brain. One day, he'll ask him to write down more, but right now, it doesn't escape him the gesture of trust to allow another access to his notes and the delicate information within. He tucks it into his breast pocket, where he'll notice if it falls out, or if someone has the poor judgment to snag it. ]

Fascinating stuff, really. I need to cross-reference it with my own supplies. Now, as for what's going on with you... I found myself in very much the same situation as you just last month. If I'm not mistaken, you and I were cursed with more or less the exact same thing. I'm sure you've figured the deal out by now, but if you have any questions... [ He shrugs, opening his arms open as though saying: hit me. ]

At the very least, I can assure you that it does wear off. This won't be forever.

I KNEW I LOST SMTH

[ashaya]

[ For all that Spock might appreciate the innate need for Humans to participate in boisterous social gatherings, he does not fully grasp with both hands the ability to mingle without the underlying "stiffness" that so denotes his people. When one considers the unique "emulsion" of genetics that define his person, it becomes ever more incomprehensible to him at a level that would chance at the singular and intimate. For all that his mother is Human, he had opted for the way of his father. (But, what good had that wrought? At the end of the day, he is not — )

Still, Spock dips his chin. It is a recognition as much as it is a dismissal of the thanks that Claude provides to him. There's no need for it, given the nature of their conversation; what will benefit him will too benefit Jim in turn. For himself, it is a logical and equitable exchange. Claude is much the same as he is in this way: what they do not display does not detract from the characteristics that define them. Spock has little need to know all to cooperate and lay reasonable trust within someone who is consistent, moral in ways objective and measurable to him.

But, the admittance that he has suffered similar is enough to pique something close to interest. The corners of his dark eyes tighten, an almost squint as though the information has struck against an earlier held hypothesis. Between his brows, a shallow notch forms. ]

Curious, [ he murmurs, more to himself than to Claude. As his gaze shifts to settle unseeing past the curve of his shoulder, he knows it is not something that he would term surprising. But, it does certainly lend credence to further theories.

Unconsciously, one hand moves to toy with the other upon the table. He rubs at the index finger of one hand with the fingers of the other, the semi-opaque fabric of his gloves thinning about the bend of his knuckles. If there is anything to note there, it is that there is a curious copper coloration that stands out stark against the pale of the skin beneath. And then, almost as if he's thrown something out — he nods once, twice. ]

Considering their emphasis upon subjective violations, I had wondered if their determinations would follow suit, [ he elaborates, eyes sharpening as he turns his focus again to Claude. A beat, and with his syllables no more parched than the deserts of any homeland: ] A most distinct lack of innovation on their part.

[ Did he make a joke? Well, he isn't elaborating. Instead, he continues to almost "fiddle" with his own hands. It has slowed, grown almost languid, but — well, it does nothing to distract from asking: ]

For your own... [ He considers a word or two, but then similarly discards those as well. Claude will know what he refers to by context alone. ] Was there no measurable criteria for completion?

[ Not hard to identify what it was he'd marked out first. ]

IT'S ALL GOOD!!!

[feintofhart]

[ Claude laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them, eyes a startling green even in the dim candlelight between them, his smile utterly humourless. It's the sort of deadened expression one would, someone may assume, see before he undergoes yet another war of the minds during yet another political battle. But in this, Spock isn't his enemy. Far from it; Spock is a friend, trapped in the same horrid machinations as Claude himself is.

Though unlike Claude, he at least has a staunch confidant through it all. His eyes flick over to that ring underneath his glove. He's not one for making such bold assumptions, but he himself wears gloves as a matter of daily practice and knows that any added jewelry underneath it would have to have some sort of meaning for him to bother with it.

He doesn't point it out. It's enough to notice it. ]

Measurable? No. As with most of what they do, their criteria was completely subjective. Their desired objective was for me to show my true self. [ He snorts, as though it's somehow funny. ] They did not tell me how they were judging what that true self was, or how best to express that and, to my own knowledge? I was being my true self, thank you very much. You are no truer to yourself for holding your tongue when you oughtn't let it wag.

[ He rolls his eyes. ]

Nothing short of a confession satisfied them. So I have reason to believe that your curse will be considered fulfilled soon enough.

[ He knows he and Jim had a talk. That's enough, he thinks. ]