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.]
[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.]
[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.
[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.
[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.]
[Horatio literally has never romanced anything or anyone. So it would be fair to say he has never successfully romanced a woman when unable to walk, yes...]
No, but in order to romance them at all, you must arrive where they are without falling into the dock on route!
[Possibly for romancing. Also possibly for acquiring a test subject to romance. Either way, he was the sober monitor meant to ensure the not dock falling off.]
[And maybe he means you can't romance me because depending on the time period it might be a hanging offense, or perhaps he means you can't romance me because I am not a fancier of boys, but somehow, it comes out sounding like you can't romance me because you're a rubbish drunk and not nearly suave enough.
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And how is he being punished.]
--but. But you said.
[And how drunk is he that the bottle isn't noticed right away.]
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You just kicked my door in, Sir! If you are too drunk to remember how to open a door, you are simply too drunk.
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[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.]
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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.]
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Which might be never.]
'll not be. If-- I sit.
[Promise. Look how he promises.]
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[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.]
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Look how proud he is of himself. Beaming, really, about his skill of sitting.]
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Would you prefer cheese or ham?
[On the sandwich that he's going to force you to eat now.]
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AH. To eat. Took him a moment.]
Ham. Yes. Ham, please.
[Look how sober a response. Such deserving of rum.]
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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.
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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.]
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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.]
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...but wait.]
And naps? [Which he also wanted.] And sex?
[Which he also also wanted.]
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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...]
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Don't question the apparent lack of logic. Just know the intent is there.]
And sex?
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I can't just produce a woman from thin air for you! Even if I could she'd probably expect you to take her dancing first...
[he's going to keep delicately avoiding the possibility that Cynric could be talking about any other solution. Because gay panic.]
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Boo.
This is the crankiest sandwich to ever be eaten, sir. The crankiest. The just absolute most cranky ever you don't even know.
Except you do because there is so much righteous huffing to accompany it. Huffing and pouting and looking woeful.
Aren't you glad you invited him over.]
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Come on, don't be like that. I think we both know you're in no shape to be romancing anyone...
[It's not like Horatio's withholding something you otherwise would have been able to obtain, Cynric! Just eat your sandwich.]
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[Is it.
Because he will romance the shit out of someone at this state of intoxication.
Out of the ship itself, if it comes to that.]
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[It's not a challenge, exactly...
He's just pouring some scorn on your capabilities, that's all.]
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D'you only romance women who require you to walk at them?
[Bro that's odd.]
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No, but in order to romance them at all, you must arrive where they are without falling into the dock on route!
[He's not odd. You're odd.]
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[Possibly for romancing. Also possibly for acquiring a test subject to romance. Either way, he was the sober monitor meant to ensure the not dock falling off.]
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[And maybe he means you can't romance me because depending on the time period it might be a hanging offense, or perhaps he means you can't romance me because I am not a fancier of boys, but somehow, it comes out sounding like you can't romance me because you're a rubbish drunk and not nearly suave enough.
Impugned indeed!]
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As is throwing a bit of bread at the other man, but it's just the regular sort of rude.]
Then it's a wash, is'n'ah. Can't prove either way.
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