Catchall

[winecasks]

Who: Grantaire & OPEN
What: Catch-all for January
When: January. Just January
Where: Mostly Wyver with an Olympia option
Warning(s): N…one…? He’s a trainwreck but he’s harmless



1. Obligatory drinking prompt [Wyver]

[ Grantaire isn’t blind to the sudden shift in atmosphere within Wyver. Even within an otherwise friendly establishment, he’s watched from behind wine glasses and bottles as more than one patron is refused service for what seems to be no particular reason. It strikes him as odd, but he his head is always an impossible tangle of thoughts and words, and the reasoning has gotten caught up within them entirely. He hadn’t chosen a ribbon on Gala night, so he remains a welcome customer despite his fondness for spouting nonsense.

Grantaire doesn’t have a particularly strong stance on anything at all, but he is a friendly soul. To the next person who is turned away by the bartender, Grantaire turns, gently grabs hold of them by their arm, and pulls them down to sit across from him. He smiles, almost obliviously, as he pours wine into a glass from a bottle he’s purchased himself, and then forces the glass into his new companion’s hand. ]

There you are, my friend. Now I’ve served you myself, and your supposedly unwelcome money didn’t need to be spent at all. I don’t suppose any complaints can be made about that, do you?


2. Around Wyver

[ Though Grantaire spends a great deal of his time drinking, he makes a special effort to learn the city. It has its quirks and its history, even if the native citizens strangely can’t seem to recall it. Throughout the day, you can find him at various points throughout the city—surprisingly doing something productive. He’s acquired a sketchbook and charcoal, and he seems to be attempting to create sketches of parts of the city that he finds interesting, though he seems upset. He furrows his eyebrows at his paper more often than not, marks through pages entirely, runs his fingers through his hair in frustration and mumbles quietly to himself. ]

Hideous. Distorted perspective. Delusional Grantaire, they’ll say. He sees the world just as twisted as he claims it really is.

[ If you were to peer over this shoulder, you might see that they’re not that bad. He’s just out of practice and expecting miracles. Is that anime? ]

3. Another drinking prompt because this sad sack of shit [Olympia]

[ Grantaire’s frustration with himself has caused his spirits to sink, while his desire to drink has skyrocketed. He wonders vaguely if Olympia wine is of superior or lesser quality in comparison to Wyver wine, and in a thoughtless decision, he decides to put it to the test.

He isn’t as familiar with Olympia. Unwilling to leave Enjolras, the only friend he has left from the barricade, Wyver has become his new home, but he makes his way to the other city regardless.

The last of his money is spent rather quickly, and his glass drained even more quickly--more than once. Feel free to find him slumped over a table in the corner completely conked out. It's not a good look. Give him a little shake? ]

4. Wildcard

[ Just…anything. Or grab me at muttonchops for a top level. ]

Comments

WILDCARD I DO WHAT I LIKE

[idealisme]

[There's no concern when Enjolras comes home to an empty house. At first he barely notices, instead assuming the man is either out drinking or just passed out in his room. The assumption doesn't please him, but he doesn't linger on it- he has books to read and matters to attend to.

Hunger draws him away from his work, that's when he thinks again of the man's absence. There are rivers a drunk man might stumble into, with the heightened tension who knew which ruffian he might offend. The growing concern sits uneasily in his gut, there's no outlet for it and short of crossing the city to check every drinking hole there's nothing he can do.

Then, as he tries to settle back into his work after eating, he finds he's unexpectedly tense. He reads about the history of Wyver and can't settle. It's infuriating.

Sitting up late (or early, as it soon becomes) reading is normal for him. If he does so in their shared space rather than in his room, that's his own choice. If he gets up to pace as he reads more often than usual, that's also of his own volition.]

WHY DO YOU ALWAYS COME FOR ME LIKE THIS

[winecasks]

[ It’s very early morning and the sun has only just begun to rise when Grantaire finally winds his way back home to Wyver. He and Enjolras both keep odd hours. In fact, sometimes it seems that Enjolras may not sleep at all, but Grantaire somehow expects the other man to have found some sleep within the silence. He certainly didn’t expect to find him awake and pacing, looking almost worried.

Certainly not worried. ]

Ah, golden Apollo. Awake with the sun.

[ A fond smile tugs at the corners of his lips, but it’s tense. His thoughts are still covered in a haze of wine, but one thought does stand out extraordinarily clearly: Enjolras will be disappointed. Maybe if he just keeps talking, Enjolras won’t notice…? That’s never worked before, but maybe it’s worth a go. ]

I have seen Olympia. I have walked its streets. Both cities are very fine in their own ways and I have decided—

[ He very nearly stumbles despite standing still. ]

That there is little difference between Wyver wine and Olympia wine.

I MUST SHARE MY FEELINGS WITH SOMEONE

[idealisme]

[There's a sound at the door and Enjolras can't even feign interest in his book.

A sigh of relief might help relieve his tension when he sees the familiar mess of hair, but it does not come. Having been unaware of his concern at the man's absence, he's unaware of his relief. Instead he stands frozen, brow creased as his gaze follows the man. Anger, irritation, frustration- these are more familiar emotions. His question is answered- the man had gone to Olympia. Why? To drink.

It's pathetic.

(An urge to cross the room and embrace the man almost takes him, but he's well schooled at ignoring such unproductive desires.)]

Did any of them play dominoes? [It's deliberately said to reference Grantaire's failure back in Paris. His tone is scathing, his expression white with disapproval (and suppressed concern).

He doesn't wait for an answer, closing his book with a sharp snap.] You have sat in its wineshops, you mean. Spent your last sous on cheap wine, then begged for more when your last drop was gone. [He does not move. If he does he'll walk closer and... strike him? hug him? He can't tell.]

[winecasks]

[ He can hardly think properly, but he doesn’t need clear thoughts to feel how Enjolras’ words sting. There’s nothing new about his anger or his obvious distaste for Grantaire’s habits, but it all seems to cut deeper now. Though Grantaire continues to partake (out of habit? Necessity?) , he may very well never enjoy wine as he once did, all because of Enjolras and that single moment of acceptance. ]

You would sooner have me die of thirst?

[ He means to continue, to ramble in his usual hopeless attempts to lighten the mood, though it’s never quite worked on Enjolras, but he can’t quite manage. He finds himself feeling oddly ashamed and tight-throated. He genuinely does not want to be a disappointment to Enjolras, but that just seems to be the cycle they’re caught up in, and despite one fluke, they’ve yet to learn how to dance this dance in any other way. Against his better judgement, he takes an unsteady step forward, gaze impossibly soft.

He hasn't quite caught on to the fact that Enjolras did indeed follow him and see him playing dominoes that night, but it's enough to remind him all the same. ]

Give me some other task, as you once did. Something of use that you need done.

Olympia;

[illuminescent]

[She's coming in to this tavern with her cheeks flushed, bright. It's the middle of the day, and Lucy is not here to get drunk - she is here to get some water or some juice because she's been in the woods, and there's archery, and no one is around to harness her and ask her to do things like paperwork.

Not that Lucy doesn't like seeing to her people.

She just doesn't like being attached to a desk everyday.

So here she is, taking advantage of her freedom.]

Excuse me, may I-

[And then she sees him.

The only other person here, and she's suddenly worried.]

Sir?

[She shakes him, carefully.]

Sir.

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire stirs, giving an undignified snort as he swats at Lucy’s hand. ]

Away with you, Aigle de Meaux, unless you intend to refill my cup.

[ Without looking, he pushes his empty glass to the edge of the table, though not with enough force to send it crashing to the floor. As he reaches up to push the disheveled mass of curls from his eyes, he blinks, dumbfounded by the face he finds before him. ]

Ah, mademoiselle—

[ His gaze is unfocused as he struggles to prop himself up once more, just barely managing to stay upright in his chair. He’s clearly had more than enough to drink today, but he smiles regardless. ]

Mademoiselle, forgive me. For a moment, I felt as though I was back home and in the company of my old friends. Dear, old friends, and I mistook you for one of them in my imprudence. You neither look nor sound like Lesgle, which is lucky for you as he was a deeply unlucky fellow.

[illuminescent]

[Wait, but she knows that voice. She looks at him and smiles a little, trying to place it, and it will come in a moment, she's sure.]

And lucky for me, as I am no fellow.

[She knows the look of a man in his cups. She is, after all, friends with many a dwarf.]

I do apologize for waking you, sir, but I felt I should, to ensure you are well. May I join you?

[winecasks]

[ Somewhere in the back of his addled mind, he thinks he might recognize her voice as well, but he’ll never be able to place it without the help of a reminder. ]

You may, as I am powerless to stop you.

[ He slumps forward once more, this time to rest his chin upon his hand, smiling in that befuddled manner, sleep still heavy in his eyes. ]

If anything, I invite you to join me. I would be glad for your company. I have been sorely lacking in these recent days and it does weigh heavy on my heart. Please—

[ He gestures to the chair opposite of him, bidding her to join him. ]

2

[playingfetch]

[Who could possibly overhear this and not peer over the man's shoulder? That's an invitation to a trainwreck right there. Lancer's headed back from the market with a damp wooden crate under his arm, passing through the streets via a route that's new for him, and he's grateful for this probable entertainment.

It turns out the art, when he cranes over to catch a glimpse of it, isn't as much of a trainwreck as he expected. It remains to be seen about the artist. Lancer gives him a hearty little smack on the back. Buck up, your anime's looking just fine!]

Don't be like that! You're being hard on yourself. I ain't an artist, but I can tell what's in the picture. That's more than I expected with the way you're talking.

[winecasks]

[ The real train wreck in this situation is most certainly the artist himself, who is harder on himself than his sketch really warrants. It’s fine. It’s not the beginnings of a masterpiece by any means, but it’s done by the hand of someone who clearly has talent. Grantaire, unfortunately, is the type of man who tends to squander his talents. This is his first time returning to art after quite a long time.

He jumps in surprise as he’s slapped across the back, neither expecting to be overheard or least of all, reassured. ]

I fear that you may be just as blind as I am, or that you may see the world in a similarly warped manner.

[ He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows at his paper. He wants to turn the page and hide his shame, but it’s already been seen. He can see every flaw, and that’s with three drinks in him. He can’t imagine how terrible it must look with a completely clear mind. ]

I try to sketch a city street and what I turn up with looks more like a labyrinth. I would do well to place a minotaur at its center, but I would certainly create a poor representation of that as well.

[playingfetch]

[Lancer's never been outright accused of having a warped worldview, literally or otherwise, but he can't exactly argue it, and he laughs it off rather than find offense in it. It's obvious anyway that whatever's going on here is metaphorical. Maybe it's an . . . artist thing, or something. They tend to be funny types.]

Taking a dig at a guy who offered you a compliment! You're in this rut pretty deep. Here I thought I could at least get a smile out o' you. Let me see here . . .

[No luck hiding any shame here: Lancer's already squinting at the page to get a better look. It's half for show. He knows what the sketch looks like by now; it's just one of those thoughtful gestures, and perhaps, in a small way, getting a dig in back.]

You should go for it. Adding the minotaur. Sounds like an artistic vision to me. Now that you've said that, you'll see it every time you look at this thing anyway, so why not embrace it?

[winecasks]

It’s a rut as deep as any ocean. I’m likely to drown in it if I’m not careful.

[ He unfortunately lacks in…a number of things. Motivation, confidence, belief, and happiness, to begin with. All of this has piled high onto his shoulders and makes it nearly impossible for him to function like a health person. If he had his choice, he would abandon the sketch all together in his frustration, but he has an audience now with a much more positive mindset than him.

He glances back at Lancer, uncertain, but with a light and hesitant hand, begins to sketch once more, forming the lines of the minotaur with more expertise than he gives himself credit for. ]

Will you rescue me, if I should stumble in this endeavor? Or will you leave me to struggle?

3

[abyssalflame]

[Sidurgu has tried to remain as neutral as possible despite having taken up tentative residence in Wyver, failing to choose a side during the gala and ending up grateful he didn't. People in Olympia still give him looks and occasionally divert his service elsewhere, but it's nothing he's not used to, in truth.

At least they still let him drink here. However, he knows someone who's had too much when he sees them, and puts himself between Grantaire and the bar -- although it seems like he couldn't have another glass even if he wanted to, unless he enjoys death and dying.

Perhaps he does. Who knows.]

You've had enough. Isn't it past your bedtime?

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire has died once and seemingly isn’t opposed to it again, given the way he chooses to continue living his second shot at life. He’s still drunk more than he is sober, and he doesn’t seem to find any qualms with that beyond the occasional nagging in the back of his mind that tells him that he’s just as much of a disappointment as Enjolras always said he was. He just can’t stop himself.

Sidurgu’s voice rouses him from his sleep, and he raises his head just enough to train his bleary eyes on the other man before his gaze quickly falls out of focus once more. ]

No, no, I have had too little.

[ He insists, pounding his fist against the table for emphasis, causing his empty glass to rattle. ]

And with too few friends to join me. It is a lonely man who drinks alone, or a man who has been deprived of those he once would have gladly shared his wine with. Allow me one more glass, monsieur. One more, and I am certain I will sleep well enough for all of those dear friends who cannot join me here tonight.

[abyssalflame]

If your complaint is that everyone you know is sleeping in a damned pod, spare me the melodrama. At least they're not sleeping in the cold, hard ground.

[Sans one, anyway. That said, he seems disinclined to budge, crossing his arms sternly.]

More than friends to join you, I think frankly you need someone to stop you from regretting it in the morning.

[winecasks]

They should be, and I should be among them. Death is the warm embrace, and life the cold, empty void.

[ Melodrama is what he’s good at, clearly. It’s apparent as he heaves a deep sigh, running a finger along the rim of his depressingly empty glass. He’s more than likely to beg for more wine before the night is over with, despite his empty pockets. That’s just how the cycle goes. Whether or not he’s realized that it’s a cycle has yet to be determined. ]

I’ll regret nothing in the morning, save for not having one more glass of wine.

3

[summertimeblues]

[There's a passel of teenagers surrounding the sleeping drunkard. Seventeen-abouts, and here was all the evidence you needed that twenty one still should be limit to legal vice: they were stacking a house of cards on the lush's back.

Hilarious, but awful. Objectively awful. The guy's been so still the paper's not given so much as a chilly quiver.

Richie'd finished a date about half a pint ago. Local girl. Most of the refugees ran too raw, too strange a tapestry laying out their histories to make him try getting further than dances at the Gala. She'd enjoyed herself but had early work the next morning, and left him to finish his beer solo. If it hadn't been for Miss Doe Eyes and her sweet lips on his, he might have spotted the nonsense before they'd gotten out of hand.

Richie watches them place a card at the top, frowning. One of them is pulling out a pen and takes the business end to the man's cheek.

Enough.

He strolls over, face set in mild-mannered niceties. When he hits the table the hoodlums look up. He gives them a grin and sticks a finger in the middle of the masterpiece.

It flops down around the drunk's sleeping form, smothering his face and censoring the freshly drawn dick.].

[winecasks]

[ It’s Richie’s hand hitting the table that wakes Grantaire as well. As if woken by the sound of gunfire, he leaps upright in his chair, the house of cards tumbling down his back. Clearly unaware of the entire situation, he blinks bleary-eyed around the room, at the group of teenaged hoodlums, and up at his apparent savior. Confusion is etched onto his face—somewhere alongside the freshly drawn dick that he remains unaware is even there.

He merely offers a sluggish smile, leaning forward to rest his chin onto his hand. Yep. Still drunk. ]

Have I acquired an audience? I'm afraid you'll be disappointed, my friends. I’m hardly a performer. If I were, I fear I might be a Hegelochus. My performance, no matter how poor or superb, would be forgotten and my poor pronunciation remembered and ridiculed for all time.

nvmd this old timey manchild is too shameful, i rescind this thread

[summertimeblues]

[Funny that he should protest so much. As far as the teens are concerned (and Richie himself, incredulous though he is) he's a downright riot. The pack of youths all rip off laughing. A few clamor for more, gifted with silly words as the drunken bastard is. Richie snorts and pulls one back by the shoulder.]

Go on, buzz off. Come back around when you're old enough to finish second between the sheets.

[The boy blanches and his friends riot, laughing and pointing. "It's true, it's true!" they insist as they lead their red-cheeked pal away. They seem apt to move shenanigans to a different bar instead, but at least they'll leave this addled sucker be. Richie shoots him a long glance and delicately moves the nearest pint out of reach. The kids left behind half their drinks. All but two are near polished off.]

Did you have a fun night out? [Looks rather like the opposite. Especially since he was sitting lonesome. Any company he'd had seems to have long since taken a powder.] Might want to hit the john before you go home, you got a little... [Richie scratches at his own cheek in demonstration.]

1

[ininhuman]

[ While the tension is obvious to anyone with half a brain, and Maximus, for what it's worth, does love a good bit of mayhem, he thinks he ought to take advantage while he can still travel freely between the two cities. He firmly believes that Olympia should be bold in their actions. To give Wyver anything less is to already admit defeat, after all, but ... The plants are much more interesting in Wyver.

So before he has to get creative in his means, he decides to get his current succulent a friend. What should have been a simple endeavour is, frankly, exhausting. But little pot in hand, he comes across a bar. Maximus is not one for drinking. He feels as if he needs it before he wanders back homewards.

This, too, is an exhausting endeavour until his free hand is occupied by a glass. ]

Thank you?

[winecasks]

[ Grantaire has been drinking, of course, but he’s not yet lost his senses. He smiles warmly at Maximus, ignoring whatever judgmental eyes may be upon them as he bids the other man to join him at his table. It isn’t wise of him to waste his money and his wine on someone else, but a knowledgable man isn’t always a wise man. The company is far more important to him anyway. ]

You’re welcome, my friend. The only payment I ask is your company for a time. However long it may take you to finish your glass, or longer if you find me to be a pleasant fellow.

[ He just really misses his friends okay ]

[ininhuman]

[ Well. Isn't this man a bit depressing. Maximus says nothing about that as he takes a seat, letting his gaze cast around for a moment. Always observing, always tucking information away. ]

I'm sure I'm not good company, but I'll do my best.

[ He gives the glass a toast before taking a drink. ]

1.

[oddbod]

[It takes a moment to even process what's going on, and by that point Clara is sitting across from Grantaire, slowly starting to laugh at the offer.]

My money was only unwelcome after I objected to the bartender looking down my dress.

[Not that she objects. However, she doesn't take a sip quite yet. There's something cautious in her approach, as she looks down at the wine.]

[winecasks]

[ She may recognize him as the man who refused to believe that the enormous skeletons scattered across Wyver could be anything other than art pieces. He looks just the same, after all, with his hair a wild mess of curls and a bottle of wine in his hand.

He isn’t so drunk yet that he doesn’t notice her caution, but he merely smiles and settles back into his chair, taking a swig straight from the bottle. ]

Luckily, the manners of the bartender haven't sullied the wine. It’s a fine vintage, I assure you. I would be unable to distinguish it from a Parisian wine, if I weren't aware of where we currently are.

[oddbod]

[That almost makes her laugh.]

I don't think I'd know Parisian wine if it slapped me in the face. I usually just buy whatever's cheapest at Tesco.

[Said as if she's still living in London, stopping off at the shop on the way home from Coal Hill. She doesn't allow herself the moment it would take to think about she's never going back there. With a guarded smile, she finally lifts the glass and takes a sip.]