tfln meme

[hamelinic]

man i hate captcha. hit me here if you want to continue hijinks.

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[hamelinic]

[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.

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

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?]

[hamelinic]

[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.

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

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.]

[hamelinic]

Terrible.

[Terrible but keeping him upright. A delicate place to be.]

's put rum in th' coffee.

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[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?

[hamelinic]

[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.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

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.]

[hamelinic]

[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.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

Hey, no wait!

[No! It's too late! The door buckles in and the latch splinters, and Horatio is left propping up Cynric and just. Wincing.

It's fine. It'll be fine. He'll fix it in the morning.]

Right. No more rum for you.

[Even though he... can now see that he left it out on the table while waiting for Cynric to arrive. He just clearly underestimated how drunk his visitor would be.]

[hamelinic]

[But now the door is open. How is this not the entire point. How are praises not being rained down on him for his brilliance.

And how is he being punished.]

--but. But you said.

[And how drunk is he that the bottle isn't noticed right away.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Oh god no don't look at Horatio like that.]

You just kicked my door in, Sir! If you are too drunk to remember how to open a door, you are simply too drunk.

[hamelinic]

...even coffee?

[Wounded.

Do you see how you've wounded him, Horatio.

Do you see his broken heart on his sleeve and swimming in his eyes.

Do you see.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Oh god Cynric stop looking at him like that he literally can't cope with it right now.]

Of course you can have coffee, I just don't want you getting so drunk that you're ill.

[ill all over his stuff, he means.]

[hamelinic]

[He'll stop when you stop breaking his tiny puppy heart, sir.

Which might be never.]

'll not be. If-- I sit.

[Promise. Look how he promises.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

Then sit, and I'll make you something to eat, and you must have some coffee. Then, perhaps we shall have some rum.

[Once he's tricked Cynric into forgetting about it, hopefully. Horatio's cabin is small. A narrow bed, a coffee table, a desk and chair, and a counter with a very small array of cooking supplies upon it. Horatio reaches to snag the rum bottle from the coffee table, and turns to put the kettle on.]

[hamelinic]

[Look how he sits. Look how he sits right here at this desk where he's set. Look how he sits upright on his own.

Look how proud he is of himself. Beaming, really, about his skill of sitting.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Yes, he is doing very well and everyone is very impressed with his sitting up all by himself. Horatio still keeps a cautious eye on Cynric while filling his cafetiere.]

Would you prefer cheese or ham?

[On the sandwich that he's going to force you to eat now.]

[hamelinic]

[What is that question. What does that question even--

AH. To eat. Took him a moment.]

Ham. Yes. Ham, please.

[Look how sober a response. Such deserving of rum.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[That answer was maybe 0.5% of the distance you'll need to travel before you have earned rum, in Horatio's eyes. In the mean time, he retrieves a loaf of unremarkable, supermarket bought bread, and sets about preparing Cynric a sandwich while the coffee brews.

Horatio will make someone a lovely wife some day.]

Here.

[Annnd he's just going to set that plate, bearing a ham sandwich neatly cut into triangles, in front of Cynric.]

The coffee should take another moment or so, but you can get this eaten while you wait.

[hamelinic]

[99.5% to go. He is the captain of his sobriety ship. He is the master of his getting-the-rum fate.

And he has kisses to blow for the sandwich because lOOK HOW IT IS IN BEAUTIFUL LITTLE TRIANGLES he could sob. He could sob but instead he will eat them.

--although.] Wh'm mm ea'im thi'?

[Maybe he shouldn't question with his mouth full. Maybe.

Maybe.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Should Horatio tell him it's to sober him up? Or will that make Cynric defiantly refuse another bite of the beautiful triangle sandwich?]

You did say you wanted snacks, remember?

[A lovely snack. Maybe coffee is a snack as well? It's brewed, at least, and Horatio carefully depresses the plunger, before pouring out two cups, and placing one in front of Cynric to go with his sandwich.

Coffee and Sandwiches! See, isn't this so much better than rum.]

[hamelinic]

[He did say he wanted snacks. He's definitely happy to be having sandwich snacks.

...but wait.]

And naps? [Which he also wanted.] And sex?

[Which he also also wanted.]

[sssiiiiirrrrr]

[Oh god, Cynric, don't you remember the: Not until you're married, conversation.]

Naps are probably an excellent idea, actually.

[Just not going to respond to that bit about the sex. Snacks and naps take you most of the way there...]

[hamelinic]

[He will get married fifty times in the next ten seconds if it will get sex into this sandwich-coffee-nap concoction. Fifty times, Horatio.

Don't question the apparent lack of logic. Just know the intent is there.]

And sex?