[Speaking as a silly boy himself--and as someone who had sometimes had to deal with the romance-feelings (and the general 'yes please that in my bed' feelings) which came with finding men attractive.]
T' be fair, though, munchkin, girls aren't that much un-silly-er.
[Speaking less as a girl and more as someone who typically found himself being smacked because of their own brands of silliness.]
Just as silly as his next statement.] Pffff-- I guess. Sometimes. [Speaking both as a girl and as someone who - rarely but more than with the newly-discovered boys - found herself dealing with Feelings.]
I think it's-- feelings that're to blame. Feelings r'silly but good. Except when they're...not. [Which her feelings are. Good, she means. Mostly good, almost entirely except for those few moments they've been a bit of a painful tugging in a direction she can't quite divine.
A serious moment from her follows. A serious, drunken moment, which means it ends rather abruptly in her distracted by their positioning. How Cynric's arms are stretched up above his head to accomodate the fact that he's been tugged down to hug her so strangely.
Cynric are you ticklish. Are you because she is going to find out.]
[No. Now is sitting up time. He'll sit up on the edge of the couch so she can keep her ridiculous death-grip on his wrist--and so she can see he's not leaving so much as not being attacked by her ridiculousness.
Pat pat on the forehead, delicate flower of fragility and painfully tight fingers.]
You tell me that in the morning and I'll buy you your next bottle of vodka.
Deal. [Cynric you fool. Or you utter not-fool since Lee is clearly over-estimating her drinking abilities. Or, well - her recovery abilities after drinking. It took a silly little amount to get her absolutely hammered, and it'll be that same silly little amount to have her absolutely miserable come morning.
But for now? For now she's being sat next to and indulged in and just generally enjoying not being left alone. Cynric is infinitely better than Alone and even better than the majority of people she could be with right now.
And you know what? She's still on her back. She she scoots up, re-settles on her side just for the benefit of claiming his lap for her head since he's sat next to her.] I like you too, y'know. Jus' different.
[And different isn't bad. Cynric of all people should know that. Cynric of all people should hopefully be not too surprised that Lee is a sappy, happy drunk her first go at it. A sappy happy drunk who is currently clasping his knee in one hand and leaning onto him with her head and hopefully she won't drool on him too much while asleep.]
[He's all for giving booze to people who can handle it. He's less for the amount of sad faces she's probably going to give him in the morning, because dear god she's going to have a jackhammer in her head if his calculations of other people's intoxication are correct.
Spoiler alert: as a drinker from the age of eight, they usually are.
Also spoiler alert: he's pretty sure his own liver is either going to quit any minute or is immortal. Uncertain.
Being tugged around means, at least, he can settle properly against the couch, fingers smoothing her hair again.] I know, dearheart. It's a good sort of different.
Good. Good, I want you to-- to know. Even if you don't always want you to know. [Funny how drunkenness gets you closer to the truth and farther from coherency every second.
But what's not funny, just consoling, is the feeling of his chest moving above her head. His breathing lulling her closer to sleep and his hand on her hair soothing her eyes shut despite her apparent want to keep talking.
She hums and nuzzles against his leg, stretching before she goes limp.]
[She hears that start of a story. She thinks she senses a rare honesty and, alcohol dulling the usually razor-sharp instinct to claw into nearby honesty - especially in those least likely to show it - she just shuffles up a bit closer.
She's here, Cynric. For whatever level of truth or lie this fairy tale ends up being.] Yer not alone either. [Is her small, intoxicated mumble against his outer thigh. She scrabbles loosely for a hand, hopes she finds one to cuddle close to her chest and draw against slack but dry lips.
She may regret not remembering more, asking for more, later - but for now she's learned her lessons of pressuring. He'll share what he wants to when he wants, and if he prefers while she's drunk and will recall only vague ideas and sensations-- Well. Surely they have years to go yet in their friendship.
She's here for now and for later. Forever as far as forever can take her, she hopes. It's the thought she snuggles in on as she edges closer to sleep.]
[That's fine, really. The start of the story is lovely, after all. It's about a man who loved a woman desperately, and saved her from a life she didn't want for a life of freedom. The start of the story is about the two little boys they had and loved very much.
It's the middle that gets confusing. It's not nice, telling stories about people drifting apart--or about people fighting. It's not a pleasant sort of thing for bedtime.
So maybe the truth of the middle will get whipped through, to get to the end. To the part where at least one of the boys gets back on his feet. Finds people who make him feel safe and loved again.
Meets the most ridiculously easily drunk monk in the universe, and is glad he's not alone.
[It is a nice story. It has a nice beginning and a slightly hole-filled darker middle and then the light comes out again for the sweeping end.
The best part, Lee thinks - or would if she were more conscious - is the fact that this story hasn't actually ended yet. That the little boy - now a not-so-little man - has found a place to be safe and loved and that that won't stop for the foreseeable future. That maybe there'll be growing pains still with his new friends but all in all he probably picked better candidates for himself than the hand he was dealt at birth.
It's a story with a happy ending, and no real ending at all yet - and possibilities are some of the best endings. The very best.
So the little not-sister in his lap will shift and hum and make herself only quietly known all night as he talks himself out. She'll cling sleepily to his hand and mumble occasional nonsense and hopefully he stays put through the most of it.
Because come morning, she's going to be far less content and far more volatile regarding stomach contents and light levels and sounds and it'd be a pity for such a happy ending not to gather the scrapes of real friendship. Hopefully he'll hold her hair back. Hopefully she'll aim far, far from his lap or arms or feet.
Hopefully, mostly, things settle right back to normal.]
{ooc; that last tag was so sweet I just need you to know :3c I think our hooligans earned this happy ending y/y}
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timeasmymeasure
We all have characters like that.
Date: 2014-02-08 02:01 pm (UTC)[Speaking as a silly boy himself--and as someone who had sometimes had to deal with the romance-feelings (and the general 'yes please that in my bed' feelings) which came with finding men attractive.]
T' be fair, though, munchkin, girls aren't that much un-silly-er.
[Speaking less as a girl and more as someone who typically found himself being smacked because of their own brands of silliness.]
It's an expected bane.
Date: 2014-02-08 02:07 pm (UTC)Just as silly as his next statement.] Pffff-- I guess. Sometimes. [Speaking both as a girl and as someone who - rarely but more than with the newly-discovered boys - found herself dealing with Feelings.]
I think it's-- feelings that're to blame. Feelings r'silly but good. Except when they're...not. [Which her feelings are. Good, she means. Mostly good, almost entirely except for those few moments they've been a bit of a painful tugging in a direction she can't quite divine.
A serious moment from her follows. A serious, drunken moment, which means it ends rather abruptly in her distracted by their positioning. How Cynric's arms are stretched up above his head to accomodate the fact that he's been tugged down to hug her so strangely.
Cynric are you ticklish. Are you because she is going to find out.]
no subject
Date: 2014-02-08 02:30 pm (UTC)And your attempts at affection much... odder. He's not overly ticklish, but he's definitely.
Confused. And squirming just a little.]
--right. You're never drinking again.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-08 03:02 pm (UTC)She lets him pull away - mostly. She's trying to cling to his wrist because he's not leaving her, is he? Tickling's not so bad.]
But it's fuuun! [Not when she wakes up, it won't be. It won't be hard to convince her to never drink again ever tomorrow morning.]
no subject
Date: 2014-02-08 04:01 pm (UTC)Pat pat on the forehead, delicate flower of fragility and painfully tight fingers.]
You tell me that in the morning and I'll buy you your next bottle of vodka.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-09 03:00 am (UTC)But for now? For now she's being sat next to and indulged in and just generally enjoying not being left alone. Cynric is infinitely better than Alone and even better than the majority of people she could be with right now.
And you know what? She's still on her back. She she scoots up, re-settles on her side just for the benefit of claiming his lap for her head since he's sat next to her.] I like you too, y'know. Jus' different.
[And different isn't bad. Cynric of all people should know that. Cynric of all people should hopefully be not too surprised that Lee is a sappy, happy drunk her first go at it. A sappy happy drunk who is currently clasping his knee in one hand and leaning onto him with her head and hopefully she won't drool on him too much while asleep.]
no subject
Date: 2014-02-09 03:24 am (UTC)Spoiler alert: as a drinker from the age of eight, they usually are.
Also spoiler alert: he's pretty sure his own liver is either going to quit any minute or is immortal. Uncertain.
Being tugged around means, at least, he can settle properly against the couch, fingers smoothing her hair again.] I know, dearheart. It's a good sort of different.
no subject
Date: 2014-02-09 04:52 am (UTC)But what's not funny, just consoling, is the feeling of his chest moving above her head. His breathing lulling her closer to sleep and his hand on her hair soothing her eyes shut despite her apparent want to keep talking.
She hums and nuzzles against his leg, stretching before she goes limp.]
no subject
Date: 2014-02-09 04:56 am (UTC)Not so stupid Lee falling asleep on his lap, though. Sort of lovely Lee being curled up here safe and warm and such.]
...once upon a time.
[She'll be passed out before he gets to anything incriminating. But... that's fine.
It'll be nice to talk to her, quiet and honest, while she sleeps.]
Wow okay so just stab me in tHE HEART
Date: 2014-02-09 06:03 am (UTC)She's here, Cynric. For whatever level of truth or lie this fairy tale ends up being.] Yer not alone either. [Is her small, intoxicated mumble against his outer thigh. She scrabbles loosely for a hand, hopes she finds one to cuddle close to her chest and draw against slack but dry lips.
She may regret not remembering more, asking for more, later - but for now she's learned her lessons of pressuring. He'll share what he wants to when he wants, and if he prefers while she's drunk and will recall only vague ideas and sensations-- Well. Surely they have years to go yet in their friendship.
She's here for now and for later. Forever as far as forever can take her, she hopes. It's the thought she snuggles in on as she edges closer to sleep.]
I do enjoy it. :3 ...I mean um. \o/?
Date: 2014-02-09 07:26 am (UTC)It's the middle that gets confusing. It's not nice, telling stories about people drifting apart--or about people fighting. It's not a pleasant sort of thing for bedtime.
So maybe the truth of the middle will get whipped through, to get to the end. To the part where at least one of the boys gets back on his feet. Finds people who make him feel safe and loved again.
Meets the most ridiculously easily drunk monk in the universe, and is glad he's not alone.
It's a nice story, at the end of things.]
He's so. Goddamn cute sometimes. >:'[
Date: 2014-02-09 12:02 pm (UTC)The best part, Lee thinks - or would if she were more conscious - is the fact that this story hasn't actually ended yet. That the little boy - now a not-so-little man - has found a place to be safe and loved and that that won't stop for the foreseeable future. That maybe there'll be growing pains still with his new friends but all in all he probably picked better candidates for himself than the hand he was dealt at birth.
It's a story with a happy ending, and no real ending at all yet - and possibilities are some of the best endings. The very best.
So the little not-sister in his lap will shift and hum and make herself only quietly known all night as he talks himself out. She'll cling sleepily to his hand and mumble occasional nonsense and hopefully he stays put through the most of it.
Because come morning, she's going to be far less content and far more volatile regarding stomach contents and light levels and sounds and it'd be a pity for such a happy ending not to gather the scrapes of real friendship. Hopefully he'll hold her hair back. Hopefully she'll aim far, far from his lap or arms or feet.
Hopefully, mostly, things settle right back to normal.]
{ooc; that last tag was so sweet I just need you to know :3c I think our hooligans earned this happy ending y/y}