paradisalost | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who:

gwaine. Take two.
What: You cannot drink half your weight in alcohol without consequences.
When: Takes place after this, which in turn takes place after this.
Where: The house

In retrospect, he should have stopped sometime after the seventh drink. Or was it his eighth? ...How much did he drink last night? There was the flagon of mead, various bottles of beer, he dimly remembers assorted tiny glasses of...something....

With a groan, he holds his head in his hands. This thinking thing was making his headache worse. He eventually managed to pull himself off the bathroom floor and stumbled outside, one hand still over his eyes. Light just seemed to rake across his cornea. Of course, blind, it's very easy to walk right into something. Or someone.

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And that someone would be Allen, who was heading to check on Gwaine in the bathroom since he didn't see him on the couch this morning. He quickly jumps back before any smell of stale liquor can get near his nose.

"...Good morning, Gwaine,"

The running into something and subsequently abrupt moving away of said something kills the little left of his balance. Luckily, there's a wall nearby willing to break his fall. Sagging against it, Gwaine distantly places Allen's voice. He abducts the fingers of his hand to reveal a squinting eye. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

"Is it morning?"

He makes a slight face. He remembers mornings like this with his Master all too well. It wasn't happy reminiscence.

"Just barely. It's close to noon."

When he dragged himself into the bathroom, it was still dark out. So he's been in there all morning. And he didn't even notice. He again hides his eye behind his hand.

"This is why I usually drink alone."

He lurches away from the wall awkwardly. Oh, couch... couch, where are you...? His search is complicated by the fact that he's still walking blind and relying on memory alone to navigate possible obstacles.

"You could always simply not drink as much,"

Allen walked out of the doorway of the bathroom, going about to search for the items he need for the day. After Gwaine's little rant about him last night, he felt even less inclined to spend the day with this man.

"I didn't. I only drank..." he trails off as he again tries to count. Again he hits that wall of no memory. He groans, rubbing his head. "I don't remember."

He hasn't found the couch, but he did find a chair with a blanket thrown over it. He strips the chair of the blanket and drops to the floor with it, using it to keep the bright daylight a muted semi-darkness. Floor beats a chair right now anyway.

"You drank a great deal and then you decided to have a chat with me," he'll explain to him dryly. As he continued seeking out the things he need.

Have a head peeking out from under the blanket. "Oh, really? What did I say?"

Now that Allen mentions, he does vaguely remember them talking. The subject or duration, though, eludes him entirely.

"That I'm lifeless?" This tone is flat, unamused as he starts putting things into a bad. "Unless I'm angry, of course."

"As well as insults to my hair."

There's a pregnant pause.

"You could do something with your hair."

"I also told you to stop talking about my hair," he replied.

He keeps putting things in his bag. Allen would never admit it, but to be called lifeless...that was something that bothered him a lot. That...wasn't something he wanted to emulate from his father. Not in the slightest.

"I'll keep that in mind now." He tosses the blanket back over his face and winces when his hand accidentally brushes his inflamed cheek. "Did it really bother you that much?"

He'll look at Gwaine dead on. "Why would it bother me, Gwaine? I'm lifeless, after all."

Did that answer your question?

He's got a blanket thrown over him so he misses the look. He doesn't miss the tone. Raising the edge of the blanket, he peeks out from under it at Allen. Oh, he really did hit a sore spot. He's two for two on the pushing buttons lately.

Grimacing at the sudden pain the action provokes, he rolls into a sitting position. This is not a conversation he can have sprawled on the ground. No matter how comfortable the cool floor may be.

"I'm sorry. For...whatever I said. I don't really think you're lifeless. If I did, I wouldn't be trying half as hard to try to know you."

A sore spot that you will likely never hear the explanation for, at that too. Talking about things related to Mana for the most part, was off limits when it came to conversation topics with Allen.

"And why are you trying hard to know me?" Though to Allen, trying hard felt rather relative anyway.

He's putting effort in! What, should he bring a bouquet?

"Isn't it obvious?" Hint: the answer is actually not Arthur. At least not anymore.

Honestly? He'd take you not coming back drunk all the time.

He scrunches his nose a bit. He can't read your hint since it's in exposition, so he's going to guess what seems obvious to him. "Because I'm with Arthur?"

That...might take some work.

"No." He shakes his head and makes a face. He'd forgotten the headache for a moment there. Resting against the wall, he admits, "It was at first, but it's not now."

How about every other night? As a first step?

"Then what is it?" Part of him is surprised, part of him is skeptical. While Allen was friendly and kind, trust rarely came easy with him.

That...might still take some work.

"Because you're a better man than me." There's a slight upward tilt to the corner of his lips. "And you're one of the few friends I've got."

How about every weekday that starts with a T?

And he...wasn't quite expecting that response. So there is a brief pause before he answers slightly skeptically. "Are you...quite sure about that?"

How about a trade-off? One week one of those T days, next week the other of those T days. Take it or leave it.

That's an odd question. He'll refrain from commenting on that, however. "Why wouldn't I be?"

What a sad little man.

"Well uh...we don't exactly get along very well." Or at all, from Allen's view point.

He shrugs. "I like you fine."

And now he's back to lying down and throwing the blanket over his head. Nice, painless darkness.

He's not...quite sure how to respond to it. Is it a good thing? A bad thing? He isn't sure. But he's quiet for a moment before answering.

"Would you like some medicine? For your head?"

He doesn't take the blanket off so the sound is a little muffled. "I'd kiss a troll if it would stop the pain."

A very amused look passes Allen's face briefly, though Gwaine will miss it underneath that blanket and all.

"Well, fortunately the medicine isn't that."

"What is it?" He shifts the blanket so he can peek out from under it.

"Some pills, called aspirin," he'll head to his closet where he usually stashes his first aid kit and start to dig for it.

He cranes his head a bit more, looking in the direction of the sounds. "Pills?"

"Small little things you swallow with water."

He grabs the first aid kit and heads to the kitchen, coming out a moment later with a glass of water. He sits down on the coffee table in front of the couch and gets the aspirin out of the kit.

Still on the floor, Gwaine squints at what Allen's doing. "That's medicine? Those little things?"

"Yes, that's right," he nods. "Why? What do you have in your day?"

"Potions. Poultices. The really desperate and lucky enough to have it, magic." He again sits up. Elbow on his knee, he rests his head on his palm.

"I see." sounds just like something you'd hear about in the stories. "Well...luckily medicine has advanced quite a bit since then." He holds out the aspirin for Gwaine to take.

He takes it, examining it first. "I just swallow this?"

It's such a...little thing. This actually works?

"Mhmm! That's right! It's best to wash it down with water."

"I can get it." He struggles to his feet, swaying when he's finally standing. He laughs. "No more strange drinks for me."

"Yes, I'm sure you'll stick to that," Whether it was a jab or simply teasing, it's hard to say.

Why can't it be both? Gwaine will take it as both.

"Your vote of confidence is inspiring. Truly." He's far from offended, though, as he makes the trek to the kitchen to get some water.

"Hey, I speak the truth!"

He makes a half-dismissive noise of assent. He doesn't bother grabbing a cup and cups a hand under the faucet's stream, taking a drink straight from it.

He sees that and grimaces some... the gentleman in Allen is rather disgusted. What a barbaric way to drink water, my lord.

He doesn't notice and, if he had, he wouldn't actually care. He shuts off the faucet and leans against the sink for a while, massaging his head.

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