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[Trust is a lovely thing. Trusts feels good around a heart. This will be admitted to her approximately never, of course, but it will be relished just a bit while she's drunk and he's buzzed.
Dragging her around the edge of the party is a slow process. There are a lot of people to nudge out of the way; a lot of missteps to correct quickly so they don't go tumbling down.
Her sudden insistent questioning gets him blinking and swaying, briefly leaning them both against the wall for support.]
--yes. Yes, I'm paying attention.
Dragging her around the edge of the party is a slow process. There are a lot of people to nudge out of the way; a lot of missteps to correct quickly so they don't go tumbling down.
Her sudden insistent questioning gets him blinking and swaying, briefly leaning them both against the wall for support.]
--yes. Yes, I'm paying attention.
[Any and all hugging is the best. Any and all hugging is exactly what the addled brain wants just now.
And coffee is apparently a suggestion which has the addled brain's attention. His hum is more tuneless than usual, but the bobbing of his head--once it's done destabilizing him--is entirely amiable.]
Nice coffee. Nice cofeeee. [Maybe it's just nice words. Who knows. It's distracting him from stumbling on the gangplank.] Very nice. You're a very nice coffee, sir.
And coffee is apparently a suggestion which has the addled brain's attention. His hum is more tuneless than usual, but the bobbing of his head--once it's done destabilizing him--is entirely amiable.]
Nice coffee. Nice cofeeee. [Maybe it's just nice words. Who knows. It's distracting him from stumbling on the gangplank.] Very nice. You're a very nice coffee, sir.
"Exactly."
For all that it's a lovely feeling to have, it's even better to hear him say it. To know that he understands. For it to sound and feel so right falling from his lips, to both of them.
Though for all that it feels right, there's part of her starting to feel it's less about her apartment, a specific physical place, and more about him simply being there with her. It's enough to make her wonder sometimes if home could wind up being where he is.
For now, though, it's their apartment, and they're approaching the building's front door. She pulls his arm tighter around her shoulders, her other hand fishing around in her coat pocket for her keys. "Can you manage the stairs or do you need a minute?"
For all that it's a lovely feeling to have, it's even better to hear him say it. To know that he understands. For it to sound and feel so right falling from his lips, to both of them.
Though for all that it feels right, there's part of her starting to feel it's less about her apartment, a specific physical place, and more about him simply being there with her. It's enough to make her wonder sometimes if home could wind up being where he is.
For now, though, it's their apartment, and they're approaching the building's front door. She pulls his arm tighter around her shoulders, her other hand fishing around in her coat pocket for her keys. "Can you manage the stairs or do you need a minute?"
Physical places have never particularly stuck for him. People used to, although it had been less and less so, recently. The exceptions were notable.
Rachel had become the most notable exception ages ago, at this point. He had absolutely no regrets about it.
Even less so while intoxicated--although, to be fair, part of that was his regret of other things. Like the swimming in his head. "...give me a beat."
Counting off up the stairs would help him hit each step. Don't question, Rachel.
Rachel had become the most notable exception ages ago, at this point. He had absolutely no regrets about it.
Even less so while intoxicated--although, to be fair, part of that was his regret of other things. Like the swimming in his head. "...give me a beat."
Counting off up the stairs would help him hit each step. Don't question, Rachel.
"...Okay."
The stairs come in sets of eight, and she dutifully counts them off as they ascend. One flight to get to the first floor, then a pair each, with a short landing after the first set of eight, to get to each successive floor. Eleven measures, perhaps, with a breath between, or eleven lines of a song.
"...six, seven, eight," and their door is the one nearest the stairs, a couple of strides and then the jingle of her keys, the metallic snap of the lock turning over. A shove of the door with him in tow, and they're both inside.
"Straight to that bath? Or do you need a minute?"
The stairs come in sets of eight, and she dutifully counts them off as they ascend. One flight to get to the first floor, then a pair each, with a short landing after the first set of eight, to get to each successive floor. Eleven measures, perhaps, with a breath between, or eleven lines of a song.
"...six, seven, eight," and their door is the one nearest the stairs, a couple of strides and then the jingle of her keys, the metallic snap of the lock turning over. A shove of the door with him in tow, and they're both inside.
"Straight to that bath? Or do you need a minute?"
His head bobs dutifully along. His feet don't stumble more than a little, the automaticity of dance training keeping him moving without much need for the assistance of his bleary mind.
The real swaying comes when they reach the right landing--when he's got to wait for the door to be opened, when he's being dragged along into the apartment. There's much less of a rhythm to that. It throws his balance.
And it means he'll be clinging tightly to her for a moment in an attempt to reorient once they're in. Purely for rebalancing. "...yes."
The real swaying comes when they reach the right landing--when he's got to wait for the door to be opened, when he's being dragged along into the apartment. There's much less of a rhythm to that. It throws his balance.
And it means he'll be clinging tightly to her for a moment in an attempt to reorient once they're in. Purely for rebalancing. "...yes."
"I've got you."
Because that yes, she decides, when coupled with the way he stops and clings to her, means he needs a moment. She draws him close, circling his waist with her arms and letting him lean into her. One hand starts rubbing soothing little circles on his back.
"There's no rush. Let me know when you're okay to move again."
Because that yes, she decides, when coupled with the way he stops and clings to her, means he needs a moment. She draws him close, circling his waist with her arms and letting him lean into her. One hand starts rubbing soothing little circles on his back.
"There's no rush. Let me know when you're okay to move again."
He's never been certain why his manager has long called him an overgrown cat. Rachel might be able to explain it to him, from the way he nuzzles contentedly against her neck, half purring as his arms pull tighter around her. It's not at all unlike a lion flopping up onto its trainer's shoulders for a brief cuddle.
Thankfully, nipping at her neck is just with the nibbling flat teeth of a drunk human being, not the rough latching jaws of a savanna predator.
"Spoiled."
Thankfully, nipping at her neck is just with the nibbling flat teeth of a drunk human being, not the rough latching jaws of a savanna predator.
"Spoiled."
"For anyone else? Completely. See what you've done."
No, she knows what he meant, that he's the one being spoiled right now. She doesn't need to tell him she understands, and that she further doesn't mind doing it, not when he can clearly tell he's being indulged.
She lets out a pleased little hum at his teeth in her neck. She doesn't move, not wanting to upset his efforts to re-orient. She's been there, she knows how little it takes to set the room spinning and your head straight into misery.
"I'm not asking because I'm going to judge or disapprove of the answer." More circles low on his back, her hand warm over the fabric of his shirt. "I only want to know so I have a better idea about recovery time. How much did you have to drink?"
No, she knows what he meant, that he's the one being spoiled right now. She doesn't need to tell him she understands, and that she further doesn't mind doing it, not when he can clearly tell he's being indulged.
She lets out a pleased little hum at his teeth in her neck. She doesn't move, not wanting to upset his efforts to re-orient. She's been there, she knows how little it takes to set the room spinning and your head straight into misery.
"I'm not asking because I'm going to judge or disapprove of the answer." More circles low on his back, her hand warm over the fabric of his shirt. "I only want to know so I have a better idea about recovery time. How much did you have to drink?"
Being allowed to get oriented in their slightly-spin-y apartment is definitely spoiling. He's dead certain of it.
He's also fairly certain that the best way to answer her question is honestly and with complete candor. "Yes."
...no, wait. That's not right. That's not right at all.
"Noon?"
Better.
He's also fairly certain that the best way to answer her question is honestly and with complete candor. "Yes."
...no, wait. That's not right. That's not right at all.
"Noon?"
Better.
[Please. She's not only slightly crazy. A professional bard should be more creative with compliments.]
Let's start with a nap. You know. I'll sleep on your shoulder while you're munching on the snacks. And I don't want to find crumbs in my ear when I wake up.
Let's start with a nap. You know. I'll sleep on your shoulder while you're munching on the snacks. And I don't want to find crumbs in my ear when I wake up.
...noon. And she didn't leave work terribly early, it wasn't all that much before five. Dear, oh dear. Lots of water, then, when he's ready. A bath and sleep, definitely sleep.
But first they can stand here as long as he needs to. They'll get nowhere if she goes steering him around the apartment and he gets dizzy.
"You were really that bored while I was at work?" She shifts a little closer, careful not to jar him, coaxing his head down to her shoulder.
But first they can stand here as long as he needs to. They'll get nowhere if she goes steering him around the apartment and he gets dizzy.
"You were really that bored while I was at work?" She shifts a little closer, careful not to jar him, coaxing his head down to her shoulder.
How kind of you to say. I'm sure you're a very nice coffee as well.
[Oh god Cynric how are you possibly this adorable? You're going to have to stop it because Horatio is not supposed to find men this adorable and it makes him feel a little weird.
Still, they ascend the gangplank safely, and Horatio begins to steers Cynric towards the the main entry port.]
Have you been on your own all day?
[Aka: Have you been drinking alone all day?]
[Oh god Cynric how are you possibly this adorable? You're going to have to stop it because Horatio is not supposed to find men this adorable and it makes him feel a little weird.
Still, they ascend the gangplank safely, and Horatio begins to steers Cynric towards the the main entry port.]
Have you been on your own all day?
[Aka: Have you been drinking alone all day?]
[Ridiculous. Men are adorable. And women are adorable. Everyone is adorable. Life is adorable. Horatio just embrace the love and joy which is the universe.
And don't overly judge the answer, which comes with just a touch of a pout.]
And only whiskey as a friend. You're all terrible friends.
And don't overly judge the answer, which comes with just a touch of a pout.]
And only whiskey as a friend. You're all terrible friends.
You are your own worst enemy. I'm sure you'd have found someone to look after you earlier if you'd made any attempt...
[Did he say look after? He meant hang out with. Yes. Hanging out, not babysitting.]
[Did he say look after? He meant hang out with. Yes. Hanging out, not babysitting.]
[Horatio carefully maneuvers Cynric into the main ship, and it's a mercifully short stagger to his quarters from there.]
We'll see. It would be a terrible shame to ruin the flavor of the coffee, wouldn't it?
We'll see. It would be a terrible shame to ruin the flavor of the coffee, wouldn't it?
[He wants to hit as many solid surfaces as possible on his way to his quarters, right? Because Cynric's feet have got that. They're all about that. Totally covered.]
Would it, though?
[Ruin the nice coffee? Or make the nice coffee into SUPER COFFEE?
These are the questions.]
Would it, though?
[Ruin the nice coffee? Or make the nice coffee into SUPER COFFEE?
These are the questions.]
Well, the only way to find out will be to try it both ways. No rum can go first.
[The gentle swaying of the ship is just a whole new adventure with Cynric's broken rudder trying to direct them. Horatio finally juts out his free hand to clasp one of the doorframes they're passing, tugging the bard carefully towards it.]
Here we are, would you please open the door for me? It's not locked.
[He only asks on account of currently having his arms currently full of Cynric and doorframe.]
[The gentle swaying of the ship is just a whole new adventure with Cynric's broken rudder trying to direct them. Horatio finally juts out his free hand to clasp one of the doorframes they're passing, tugging the bard carefully towards it.]
Here we are, would you please open the door for me? It's not locked.
[He only asks on account of currently having his arms currently full of Cynric and doorframe.]
"I can only imagine." Maybe it's a lot like rattling off two column inches about funding cuts to the fire department and no more rescued kittens from trees. But this is not about her, even if the idea of the exercise of passion and talent for something one can tell is clearly beneath one's capabilities is more or less the same.
"But I do know it's not what you want to be doing. It's not what feeds your soul."
"But I do know it's not what you want to be doing. It's not what feeds your soul."
[Ah yes. Hello, door, old arch-nemesis of not so long ago when trying to get to the stairs to tumble down to get here. Last time had been a battle for the ages.
This time he starts with kicking. It only takes two to get the poor wood heaving open.
He's learned! Isn't Horatio proud? Horatio should be proud.]
This time he starts with kicking. It only takes two to get the poor wood heaving open.
He's learned! Isn't Horatio proud? Horatio should be proud.]
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