driftfleet | Mirtul 18 1370 dr

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Mirtul 18 1370 dr

Who: Syeira and YOU
Broadcast: Nope
Action: Varric's bar on the Iskaulit mostly
When: Directly after the shuffle.

She has been checking on the roster listing nearly compulsively lately. Things have just been rough for her. Losses upon losses. Regaining Anders, only for her friend to not know her. It piles up on top of everything else.

Everything else being Sam falling into a sleep only to wake and nearly do something horrible to Cas. And she got to take a lovely swim in Sam's blood for that, a delightful bonus to her kill deprived self. And then Sam is hurt, again, on her watch. Cas fell into a sleep immediately after. She's been ill from the planet nearly all the time. Coil had a melt down. Arthur turned into a tiny teenager. And of course, Robin revealed to her she not only had a Calibration, but when he was in it, he saw her murder her own mother.

She had asked Robin not to shut her out again. That was the mistake. She'd admitted her fragility out loud where Atroma could over hear it. She'd told him she couldn't stand to lose any more friends. And now he's just gone. Removed, like so many others. And she quite simply cannot take one more bit of horrible without doing something about it. But there's nothing to fight. She's not going to trash her room. The thing that's left is rather obvious.

She goes to the Iskaulit, to the tavern that feels like one from home. She has a small pouch full of credits. She managed to pull out enough that the pouch weighs at least five pound. There's a hefty amount of money in it. This she takes directly to whoever is tending the bar, places it purposefully down on the counter, and gives them a dead serious, almost empty look.

"I would like to drink, until I physically cannot anymore, or the money runs out. Whichever comes first." And by the look of things, the money won't be what runs out first. "If it's the former, please feel free to keep whatever is left over for your troubles." Because she imagines it will be annoying to shove her out into the hall when she's fall down drunk.

And with that, she will start drinking. There's dedication in it, because she wants to obliterate everything in her head. Blot it all out until all that's left is alcohol poisoning.

[ooc: Feel free to tag her at any time during this. And please note, she did not notice Zhas has returned to the fleet, and I request that no one tells her. Thank you!]

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She gets up and so does not see the way grey eyes flash to silver fire in fury, hands clenching on his harp with sudden, vicious hate. If he ever meets that mage, he will tear him to pieces slowly.

(He is many things, is Maglor - but he is still his father's son, and the fire in him is banked, but not yet out.)

Even so, his voice stays level.

"He had no right to such a precious jewel. And I would consider that a failure, for you are now free."

He hopes Syeira didn't kill him, so he can have the pleasure.

She returns to her seat beside him, expression oddly neutral for the subject their on. Perhaps the fresh drink has fortified her nerves for a brief moment. Or dulled them at last. Take your pick.

"Regardless of right, he could, so he did. Doing it to Imoen was by far the worse offense. Im was a true innocent, before Irenicus took us." Ah, there's her feelings again. Worry this time, raw and open.

"If any one of us is precious, it's Imoen. I miss her."

He reaches over as she sits back down and tugs on a stray lock of hair.

"Just because another is precious makes you no less a jewel. Moreso to me, for I only know you."

His eyes are gentle again, but the fury is only tucked away where he can nurse it, not put out, still glinting.

"I hope you dealt with him - that sort of sorcery is the very worst kind, that seeks to meddle in the very part of a self that makes them who they are."

He tugs on her hair and now they know she's not beyond blushing. People playing with her hair is a guilty pleasure, even in small measures like this.

"He's being punished, in such a fashion that I ought to feel guilty. But I can't bring myself to feel bad for him. I have to live with the repercussions of what he did to me. And so should he."

"Good." He says with vicious satisfaction, and tucks away the pleased thought that it means he is probably still alive, in case Maglor ever meets him.

Amil always told us not to play with our food Celegorm's memory drawls in his ear, but even the memory's eyes are sharp and hungry.

He smiles a little to see her little blush, and tucks that away for later.

"I am glad he cannot hurt anyone any longer."

Oh if he only knew what has become of Irenicus. It's doubtful anything Maglor could come up with would compare to what the residents of the Nine Hells were doing to the mage already.

"No one new anyway." More drink is required after this conversation, yes. "I seem to have lost track of why I told you this. I'm sorry." There must have been a point she was trying to make, but she's been side tracked by the retelling of her second worst enemy.

Maglor only shakes his head at her fondly.

"Never apologise for trusting me enough to share." He reminds her gently. "I am honored that you would reveal such things to me. And now I think you had best have some water, or you will have a terrible headache tomorrow."

"The headache is part of the process." No really. She anticipates and accepts that tomorrow she's going to be a huge wreck. "I'll wake up, feel horrific, call myself a fool, and go on to the next set of troubles."

"An unecessary one." Maglor points out mildly. "You have not had anything to eat yet either, have you?"

She gives him a sullen look, very like a child being found doing something foolish and not pleased being outed. She turns it towards her cup. "No," is muttered into the rim mulishly, before she drinks.

He shakes his head at her with a silent laugh.

"Sit, and I will fetch you something." He scolds gently, before getting up to do just that. He wishes now for proper facilities - soup would be best - but he can get her something bland that will not sit heavy, and water, at the least.

Wait, what? She has lost control of this situation. Which is clear as he walks away. "Hey-"

Too late. So she slumps down in her seat, very low, and drinks moodily, not sure if she should be annoyed or feel cared for. Maybe both. Could she do both?

Welcome to the family?

Maglor smiles at her sulk when he returns and puts both meal and drink down in front of her firmly.

"Go on - you know full well it will help you come the morning.

Is that what that feeling is? Is this what Imoen feels like when Syeira gets all over protective? Hrm.

She huffs a sigh, leans forward and starts to eat sullenly. Mostly she picks at it, nibbles small amounts. After swallowing a bite, she prods at her food a moment. "Maybe I just want to let myself feel it, the upset and hurt and anger. I ignore it all the time, find reasons to smile. My face gets tired."

"I do not require you to smile." He says gently. "That would be a little much, I think. Nor to deny what you are feeling now. But there is no reason to suffer unduly, either. You may drink as much as you please tonight, if that is what you wish - but if I can ease a little of your physical pain tomorrow, then so much the better."

She pushes the food away, just enough to fold her hands and lay her head down on them. She lets her head turn to the side, so she can see him. She's tired, of so much, and it shows. But this is like resting a cramped muscle, so you can hold it tense again. Sometimes you need to be weak to be stronger.

"You think you're so far gone, but we barely know each other and here you are, taking care of me. You don't know anything I've done in my past, but you think I'm worth your kindness. You underestimate yourself, Maglor."

"You have stood by my cousin." He says simply. "And you have been kind to me, a stranger. My family always repays its debts - and those of kindness are a joy to repay."

Oh, that is perhaps not the right thing to say to her. Not while she's feeling so terrible, and her rationality is compromised. She looks hurt, sits up straight again. Is that how he feels?

"You don't owe me a debt. Friendship isn't commerce. It's not something that needs repaying, or purchasing. It's just given. I give it to whoever I see fit. You don't owe me anything."

He does not roll his eyes at her but he reaches across to tug her hair again.

"I did not mean it that way, and were you not drunk, little fire-hair, you would know that. But you are wrong about owing - any who my cousin takes into his heart must needs be guarded also by me."

Hey. She gives him a mildly disgruntled look about the hair tug. Mostly for its intent and not the action itself. She knows a scolding when she sees one.

"Is that what you're doing now? Guarding me."

"If you let me, I would." Maglor tells her gravely.

"Not tonight," she counters somberly.

"Then at the least, little fire-hair, let me keep you company tonight."

"If it'll make you happy." She'd walked over when he'd beckoned, stayed when he'd parented at her. If she was going to send him away, she'd have done it by now.

The tug turns into a gentle ruffle before he withdraws.

"It does. Now finish your water, if you are not hungry."

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