[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Herald's Rest gets as crowded as any respectable small-town tavern come nightfall. Considering Skyhold's a village unto itself nowadays, that's no surprise.

Maryden's holding her usual court over near the fire, her song weaving in and out of the noise: voices, laughter, shouts, clattering. Bull's there, towering over half the crowd even while seated, deep in enthusiastic conversation with Krem, but the rest of the Chargers don't seem to be anywhere near. When Alistair stands still, he's pretty sure he can hear about five different languages in a ten-foot radius.

He's nothing strange or remarkable in here. It's...nice.

And there's alcohol. Even nicer.

Comments

[bringspeopletogether]

"Worth a try." He heaves himself to his feet, taking half a moment to steady himself. "I'll be back. Don't disappear on me."

Alistair navigates over to the stairs and begins his descent.

[howtoactfereldan]

"That would require that I move." Absent.

Not drunk. (Probably.) Just... tired.

[bringspeopletogether]

That gets another snort of laughter before Alistair disappears from view.

The tavern's growing more crowded by the hour; there are enough people milling around the bar that when he asks for two mugs of whatever Cullen just had -- putting on his best puppy-dog face in the hope Cabot might be swayed -- all he gets is a studious blank look. Damn.

The bartender's a reasonable fellow, though. "Something else strong that doesn't taste like drinking your own death?" asks Alistair, hopefully, and while that gets a snort and a you're the one who asked for that piss earlier, Cabot pulls out a bottle filled with sweet-smelling amber liquor.

"...Any chance I could relieve you of the whole bottle?"

"Nope," says Cabot, and splashes a measure of liquor into two glasses -- two large glasses, to his credit -- before sliding them across the bar to Alistair.

A sigh. "I'd say you're a cruel man," says Alistair, retrieving the drinks, "but I know you'd never serve me again."

Cabot smirks. "Damn right."

Alistair is just drunk enough that going upstairs, without a free hand to brace on the rail, takes rather longer than going downstairs. Luckily, he manages it without a drop spilled.

[howtoactfereldan]

That's the thing: when you're the one in charge of making sure everybody in Skyhold doesn't get exploded or whatever by Corypheus today or tomorrow and preferably the next day, and when Cabot, being an intelligent fellow, has some idea of why he doesn't see you in his tavern very often -- you drink free, and from the top shelf. (The metaphorical one.)

Everybody else must rely on their charm.

Cullen, meanwhile, is upstairs, still staring at the ceiling. He hasn't moved, except to clasp his hands over his chest. This is perhaps unfortunately corpse-like? But it's comfortable, so... you know.

[bringspeopletogether]

It does mean Alistair hesitates an extra moment, just long enough to see the rise and fall of Cullen's chest, before joining him back on the landing.

"No luck with the beer," he sighs. "Sorry. Got this instead."

He sets one of the glasses next to Cullen's head. The other one goes to the side, for now, as Alistair retrieves his tankard to gulp down the rest of his first drink.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen blinks at the ceiling. "What is it?"

(He didn't actually want another drink. But if it's there, he might as well. Once he feels like sitting up.)

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not sure." Alistair exchanges the tankard for his own glass and takes another whiff of the liquor. "Some kind of brandy, I think."

He ventures a sip, then scoots back to lean against the wall.

"Tastes better than mine and, I assume, a little worse than yours."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Remember," peaceably, "mine was terrible and you didn't want any."

[bringspeopletogether]

In revelatory tones: "That's right. Well, this absolutely tastes better than yours, then. Fortunate for all of us I didn't get any more."

He peers down at Cullen -- who, he's finally noticed, has not made a move toward the proffered drink.

"You all right?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's all part of my genius strategy. If anyone looks up here, they'll see you. I, however, will be obscured from immediate sight."




"Also it's comfortable."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snickers. "If you'd like, I can fetch you a blanket and drape it over you. Nothing to see here, just a spare bolt of fabric. That's breathing."

He drinks.

"And when you're sick of that you can use it as a pillow and be even more comfortable."

[howtoactfereldan]

Grumbling, Cullen sits up, reaches for his glass.

"Have it your way. If anything awful happens while I'm drunk, it's your fault."

[bringspeopletogether]

"What?" he protests. "I was offering to hide you better! If you don't want the drink, give it here -- "

He beckons for Cullen's glass.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen scowls at Alistair and drinks about half of it in one go.

He will shortly come to regret this. For now his eyes bulge a little and he seems to be restraining a cough.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair cracks up.

Realizing that his drink's on the verge of spilling, he clumsily gets it down to the floor before completely giving into the laughter. Thump, goes his head against the wall; he flings one hand over his face.

A few words squeak out that sound a little bit like your face!!!

[howtoactfereldan]

Hoarse, in the way where it's a very short leap from 'regular human voice' to 'very bad Satan imitation,' Cullen says, "You thief."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I didn't -- !"

The rest of that first drink has hit Alistair with a swiftness, and there is nothing half about how drunk he is anymore. The kind of drunk where he can't stop laughing.

[howtoactfereldan]

"You're thinking about it." A cough. "And now I smell like beer. Because of you."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And brandy," he manages to point out.

Because Alistair is helpful like that!

[howtoactfereldan]

"I didn't spill that!" Cullen protests. "You spilled it. On me."

[bringspeopletogether]

Yeah, Alistair's got nothing -- just more laughter.

(His sides are starting to hurt from it, and he's having some trouble catching his breath. It's great. Cabot is his new best friend for whatever was in that tankard, no matter how foul it tasted.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Scowling, Cullen starts wriggling out of his coat, and undoing one of the buckles on his breastplate. If all Alistair's going to do is giggle like he belongs in the Orlesian court, Cullen's going to be comfortable. And it's warm upstairs.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair finally, finally trails into a series of wheezing giggles, then tiny little hiccups of laughter as he wipes his eyes.

"All right," he manages. "Don't say or do anything funny for the next five minutes or I'll start laughing again. Maker." He fumbles for his glass, holds it up in a toast. "To Cabot and whatever in Andraste's name was in that cup."

He tosses back another mouthful of brandy.

[howtoactfereldan]

Off comes the breastplate.

"And how well would that work, given your favorite hobby is laughing at me?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"No," says Alistair; he's trying for mock-patience, which would work much better if the laughter wasn't starting to creep back. "My favorite hobby is flower arranging. My second favorite is laughing at you."