middaeg | Mareuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-all [closed]

[ Berserker sees an out when Diarmuid appears, only for that hope to be shattered upon the rocks. It seems no one is safe from the celebration. Oh well...This isn't that bad, is it? Some of them had suffered so badly, just as he had, and it reminds him of home in some small way. The songs are different, the setting is different, but sharing a drink and celebrating just being alive is very much the same.

"So here's a health to the company and one to my lass
Let's drink and be merry all out of one glass"

An older, scarred woman hands Diarmuid a drink with a wink before returning to her seat. Berserker,meanwhile, finds himself transfixed by his bondmate's glance...He's too pretty for his own good.

"If anyone knows how t' get him to join in, it's you, lad. Look at the way he looks at you!"

The dragon grimaces and averts his eyes; there's no getting out of that one... ]

Get me another drink and maybe I'll sing for you. Maybe. Even he [ He motions to Diarmuid. ] hasn't heard me sing.

[ "Let's drink and be merry, all grief to refrain
For we may or might never all meet here again"

As the chorus carries on, a fresh glass of ale is put in front of Berserker. He raises his glass to Diarmuid with the briefest of smiles. Just that little smile is enough for the grizzled seaman who'd been teasing him to slap him on the back with a grin.

"I knew ye had it in ye!"

The dragon just gives him a withering stare and turns his attention back to his Bonded. ]

Sláinte!

Edited 2020-03-02 19:33 (UTC)

[The nostalgia is stronger still for Diarmuid; while Berserker had, in all his incarnations, been a more solitary figure, limiting his company to two or three, he had served alongside a whole band of boistrous warriors. A week without at least one get-together around a fire with song and too many drinks was almost unheard of and this has the same atmosphere. It warms his heart to know that Berserker can be a part of it too.

But there's something else too. As he thanks the woman for her kindess- and laughs off the wink- he can't help but notice the faintly enchanted look in the dragon's eyes. Well, now, that's unusual- and if he thought he'd let it slip by when there's such a playful mood in the room, he's got it wrong. Diarmuid leans forward, voice dropping to a low, almost sultry murmur-]

Oh, I haven't, have I?

[- and then he sits back again. He even clinks his pint glass against Berserker's as he holds it out as if he hadn't just made a suggestive joke at his expense. Thankfully, in the middle of their singing, no one else seems to have noticed it. Hmm. Maybe Scathach wasn't too far off when she said he could do with being a little more coarse; it's actually kind of fun to tease him like this.]

Sláinte!

[A few of the others break out of the chorus to give a hearty cheers in response. As the song winds down, though, their enthusiasm doesn't; another roar of approval goes around the room as one of the younger sailors, a woman with a bandana tied across one eye, produces a small fiddle and plays a short, jaunty jingle to set the tone. Then, grinning, she points across the table using her bow.

"Come on, then, boys! Show us what you learned back in your lands!"

Diarmuid takes one long, deep draught of his drink, slams it back on the table and nods at Berserker.]

Ah, but my voice is as weak as this beer [-a ripple of gruff laughter-] on its own. Join me.

[ Damn it. For a change, Berserker is the one flustered by that comment. A light flush colors his cheeks as he tosses his head to the side, as if to deny the fact Diarmuid's flirting flustered him. Try as he might to have a poker face, it's difficult when someone knows how the push the right buttons. Loud laughter follows this reaction, which only make the flush spread.

One of the regulars grips the Lancer's shoulder with a huge grin.

"Aye, ye got some kinda hold on him, lad. Never thought I'd see the day!"

Nevermind that for now. Berserker's eyes narrow for a moment as a dangerous smile plays at the corners of his lips. Of course Diarmuid knows the best way to get him going: a challenge. He drains the rest of his beer in one go, slams the mug on the table, and motions for two more. ]

Don't disappoint me, Ua Duibhne. [ The fresh mugs are set down before the two men. As pointed as his command is, there's a playful glint in his eye. ] Lead and I'll follow.

Edited 2020-03-02 21:45 (UTC)

[Maybe it's the drink or the amount of people now crowded around, laughing and jostling with each other, but Diarmuid's cheeks have taken on a light colour of their own. It's certainly not Berserker's reaction, delightful as it was, that has him blushing with pleasure. Definitely not. Rather than say anything for or against the seaman's comment, he merely claps a hand over the one on his shoulder and gives a winsome smile.]

I wonder about that.

[As for the song, though, he takes a moment to consider his options. If it were just the two of them, he'd pick something in Gaelic, something to really bring the spirit of Erin here and ring out her praises but this calls for something with wider appeal. Finally, he takes another mouthful of his drink- when did that new glass arrive? does he care?- and clears his throat.

And sings.]

Now we are ready to sail for the horn-

[While not his strongest asset, his voice is strong and full-toned, curled pleasantly at the edges with the strength of his accent. But maybe it's not that surprising: it would be a tragedy if the ward of Aengus Óg, god of poetry and song and love, were tonedeaf.]

Weigh-hey, roll and go!

[ Berserker drains a good portion of his glass and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as Diarmuid starts to sing. The strength of his voice comes as no surprise -- strong and charming, just as he is. His expression returns to a neutral one in an attempt to shake off how flustered he'd been. He leans forward over the table, red eyes settling on the witch.

There's a moment of hesitation, no more than a breath, barely perceptible, before he follows suit. It's been awhile since he's had a reason to sing, much less a want to. He can't back down from the challenge now, though. He gives a nod and responds. ]

Our boots and our clothes, boys, are all in the pawn-

[ As opposed to his normally very neutral tone, his singing voice is bright, full -- a reflection of who he should have been. It catches most of the revelers off-guard, stunning a few of them into silence as his voice carries over the din. ]

To be rollicking Randy Dandy-O!

[The moment that Berserker joins in, Diarmuid breaks into a smile that lights up his eyes and face so radiantly it too feels like a glimpse into the man he once was. It isn't simply that he got him to sing, it's his voice too; he sounds so different, more alive somehow, as if cast in brighter colours by the richness of his tone. The voice of a man, not a monster resigned to life in the shadows. For a few seconds, the only way to describe his gaze as he looks across the table is adoring.]

Heave a pawl, oh heave away-

["Weigh hey, roll and go!"

This time, they're accompanied by some of the other patrons around them who, through sharpness or experience, have already picked up the pattern of the shanty. It isn't long, though, before the whole table- and a few of the others around it- are singing too, clapping their hands to the tables in time with the beat. The woman with the fiddle, one of the first to find the tune, plays along with them, adding decoration of her own as the sound blends with a cocktail of voices. It seems far too soon when they finish and round it out with another rowdy cheer and applause for good measure.

The midshipman from before laughs and slaps Berserker's shoulder, grinning so broadly his fangs show. "Attaboy, Ciarán! We should get you singing more often!"

Diarmuid, meanwhile, has returned to his drink- at least, that's what he's trying to do. The sailor beside him, a man in a loose shirt and vest, has leaned over to mutter something into his ear. Whatever it is, it temporarily freezes Diarmuid in place, glass halfway to his lips, before he gives a soft, embarrassed laugh and replies, his words lost in the hustle and bustle of the tavern.]

[ Berserker grimaces at the slap on his shoulder and swats the hand away with a glare. For a moment, he'd been so caught up in the moment that he'd forgotten they weren't alone. Nothing had mattered in that moment but answering the challenge given to him and doing it to the best of his ability...Strange.

His normal indifferent expression returns as he leans back in his chair to finish off his drink. He's not nearly drunk enough for this now...But he's not even annoyed, really. Seeing the light back in Diarmuid's face, a true smile, warms his heart and he feels overwhelming pride in the knight for just a moment; as everything he feels, it's fleeting, but intense, a bright spark through their Bond. Berserker can't keep his eyes off of him even as someone tries to draw his attention away. ]

...You're quite the draw here, aren't you? [ Teasingly. ] What has you flustered this time?

[After a few moments- and a further comment that Berserker won't catch but still brings colour to Diarmuid's cheeks- the man gives his shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his table, where his friends jostle him and laugh. Slightly flustered, Diarmuid finishes the drink he was about to take, glancing up again only when Berserker speaks. Oh dear.

The witch sets down his glass to rub the back of his neck, face hotter than ever.]

Ah... the good sir made an offer I had to refuse. That's all.

[You would think by now he'd be used to being hit on but it never really stops being embarrassing, particularly now he doesn't even have a faerie curse to blame.]

[ Normally, Berserker isn't possessive in the slightest. On the contrary, he may be a little too lax in his attitude with regards to their relationship. No matter what happens, he's confident in the fact that Diarmuid will always return to his side. Now, however, in this setting, after all that's happened...He can't ignore the draconic instincts digging at him to make a little show. ]

Is that so...?

[ There's something a little dangerous about his tone, a sharp edge as he pushes himself up out of his seat. He walks over to Diarmuid and leans down to kiss him, cupping his chin in one hand. It's far more affection than he's keen to show normally, but this isn't normal. His kiss is warm, passionate, and maybe just a little bit possessive as he lingers longer than strictly necessary. ]

Maybe that will keep anyone else from making an offer like that.

[Just like that, Diarmuid melts. As the dragon leans over him, he sinks into the kiss, letting him take exactly what he wants- and receiving the peculiar thrill of being so bluntly designated as his in kind. If anyone had any doubts about the nature of their relationship before, they certainly don't now.

But it's over too soon. As he stares, breathless and pleasantly warm from the alcohol on his tongue, he's prickling all over. No matter, he can fix this.

Diarmuid gets to his feet, winding one arm around Berserker's waist to balance his weight as, quite unexpectedly and with a glint in his eye, he tips him back. In the few moments that he has him a lean, he steals a kiss of his own- too short to quench his need but long enough to make sure Berserker knows where he stands. As he draws back, a coy smile playing across his lips, he's entirely deaf to the spirited rallying all around them.]

Aye, I wager it will.

[ Ah...Now that is a surprise. Somehow he'd been expecting a gentle reprimand for giving into his possessive instincts in such an overt way. Berserker's eyes go wide as he's dipped, but there's no resistance beyond that. The fact they're in public with numerous observers doesn't seem to matter right now. Diarmuid's lips on his and the pulse of magic between them -- that's all that matters in the moment. He wants more than just that kiss, but the reality of the situation comes back to him.

Right. They're still in the Seadog. In front of many witnesses to that needlessly affectionate behavior.

Not as if any of that embarrasses him, of course. He lets his hand rest on Diarmuid's chest and steals another quick kiss from him.

"Another round, lover boys?" ]

One more... [ He gives a faint smile to the witch before returning to his seat. ] And maybe another after that.

[Their eyes meet and every inch of him feels like it's singing, the from the warmth in his cheeks and on his lips to the ebb and flow of magic through their Bond. Strong as his emotions are, they feel intensified by their connection- it's intoxicating.

So much so that he almost misses the midshipman's laugh and playful quip. Perhaps it's just the beer- though in the moment he would swear that he's drunk on love rather than alcohol- making him so relaxed but all Diarmuid does is flash him one of his most charming smiles.]

I could never turn down such an offer, a dhuine uasail! [And then, before he can stop himself, he throws down a handful of coins-] One more for me and every other fool with someone in his heart!

[A roar of approval goes around the room as Diarmuid tugged back into his chair, a furred arm hooking around his neck as he's jostled by one of the sailors. The next drink passes in an excitable rush of conversation and song, albeit one that's a little more restrained than the last now that it's getting later.]

[ It's fine, truly it is. They both needed this. It's freeing after the last couple of months of pain and sadness to have this time of pure joy and mutual admiration. There's so much warmth passing between them right now, Berserker can't remember if he's ever felt like this...Diarmuid's happiness and his own affection for him burn brightly in his chest, so brightly he can't fight the lingering smile on his lips. What a change from the last month where he isolated himself because he felt so unworthy of what he'd been given...

His good mood shines through even brighter as he joins in the song without coaxing this time, lending his voice to the chorus around them. Maybe it's because he's getting drunker or because he's seen the looks and the passes the witch has been getting, but Berserker's being more visibly affectionate. He reaches for Diarmuid's hand again to gently clasp it in his own, even leaning across the table to steal a kiss. He's going to get shit for this tomorrow, he just doesn't care. ]

I...want to see you happy like this more often.

[ It's a quiet admission, one that would be lost amongst the noise if he hadn't leaned so close to say it. ]

[Such a smile seemed impossible for Berserker last year- hell, he'd even wondered whether he would lose it all over again after his abduction- but it looks so natural now. The Child of Light's smile is radiant whatever form it takes and this one, subtle as a skyline at dawn, hinting at brightness after a cold night, takes his breath away just the same.]

And I you.

[He sounds breathlessly sincere, meaning every single word, but the warmth across his face is now largely thanks to the drink. It seems that, as far as Celtic heroes go, Diarmuid ranks slightly lower on the scale of alcohol tolerance. If there was any doubt that he was drunk, he promptly eases it by leaning forward, planting another kiss on Berserker's forehead and mumbling against his skin-]

I fucking love you, Ciarán Cú. [A little clumsily, Diarmuid clinks their glasses together.] Here's to us, you beautiful man.

[Maybe he should swap to water- or call it a night.]

[ Oh...Oh, he is drunk. Berserker gives him a look, his smile turning sharper into a smirk. ]

And you're drunk, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne... [ He reaches out to cup his cheek, then pats it gently. ] This is your last drink. Am I going to have to carry you home?

[ His declaration is endearing; he seems so hesitant to say how he truly feels about the dragon sometimes that hearing him so freely express it warms his heart. If only it hadn't been where he works that Diarmuid so freely declared it...But it's okay.

Berserker chugs his final beer and stands up, offering his hand to his beloved Bonded. ]

[Drunk? Diarmuid blinks dully at him for a few moments, snapping out of his daze at the little pat. Ah. So he is. Still, he has enough pride left to be puff up in tipsy indignance at Berserker's question and gets to his feet by himself to make a point.]

I'll not be dishonoured by such a thing.

[... maybe he'll accept a shoulder to lean on later on, though.

As they prepare to leave- it takes longer than it should with the amount of people who want to bid the both of them goodnight- the bartender catches his shoulder and, just loudly enough for Diarmuid to hear, says:

"Take care of our boy, alright?"

The request is met with a firm nod. He doesn't need to be sober to make a promise like that.

Outside, the night air has a bite to it, carrying the brisk, coastal breezes and the scent of brine all the way from the shores, but it's refreshing. When Diarmuid turns to Berserker next, it's with the smallest of smiles as he links his fingers through his and begins to tug him along. He never lets his fingertips leave his, even as he strays further ahead on surprisingly light feet.

There's one last song he has for him, after all.]

Where Lagan stream sings lullaby, there blows a lily fair- [This time, his voice is soft and sweet and romantic, meant only for his lover's ears.] The twilight gleam is in his eyes, the night is on his hair...

[ It's still strange that so many people care about him. He can't see the value in himself, especially not after his abduction. He doesn't have to understand why people care, though -- he just accepts it. Just as he accepts Diarmuid leading him along, hand in hand. It's all so alien and new, despite the fact they've been this way for months. Berserker still feels like he doesn't deserve what he has, but again, he accepts it.

This is why he can't mind it when the witch starts to sing just for him. Maybe it's because he's pleasantly drunk that he doesn't get annoyed with how sappy the song is or maybe it's because Diarmuid is such a hopeless romantic and he knows this makes him happy. That's all he wants in this world right now: for his lover to be happy. If indulging his whim to serenade him could do that, Berserker is more than happy to allow it. ]

...You're in a mood, aren't you?

[ He's not telling him to stop, that's for certain. ]

[A lovesick leannán sídhe... it's really the only way to describe him right now. Drunk on emotion and booze and company alike, Diarmuid has a lightness to him that many never see. But more than that, in the moonlight, his strange, deific heritage feels more apparent; with that pale skin and those half lidded, gold eyes, he's unmistakebly the son of a supernatural being.]

Is it obvious?

[With a chiming laugh, he turns, taking a few steps backwards before stopping to tug Berserker closer. The street is empty and the magitech lamplight has an eerie quality with the mist setting in; altogether, it makes for the kind of ethereal atmosphere that practically begs for a little romance. But rather than finish the ballad in song, Diarmuid delivers the last lines in a tender whisper.]

No life have I, no liberty, for love is Lord of all.

Edited 2020-03-17 16:03 (UTC)

[ An almost ethereal being who has utterly charmed him without the aid of an enchanted mole. Berserker finds himself staring, dumbstruck and unable to speak. He could chalk it up to how much he had to drink, but he knows it's more than that. It's love, pure and true. How the hell did they get to this point and why was he allowed to experience such a thing? The how and why don't matter now -- the dragon is in completely enamored.

If Diarmuid's odd beauty in the misty lamplight hadn't already struck him breathless, the kiss finished the job. He lets his fingers tangle in the witch's hair with a quiet sigh. If there's anyone who might witness such an intimate moment, he doesn't care. All that matters is the swell of warm emotions in his chest and the feeling of Diarmuid so close to him.

Reluctantly, he breaks away from the kiss, resting his forehead against the Lancer's. ]

You're ridiculous, but I wouldn't have you any other way. My beautiful knight...Mo grá thú.

[ His voice is as quiet and gentle as he can manage, as if speaking too loud might break the illusion. ]

[The last of his breath is captured in the kiss and the intimate crush of their bodies, leaving him giddier than ever. Even as they seperate, he can't make himself step away and give up the moment; the contact makes him light-headed with happiness and Berserker sets it all off with three simple words.

Ah. This is love, isn't it? It feels good to be called beautiful when it's him, good to be wanted.]

My father would tell me to write a poem in your name.

[Laughing, he cups the dragon's face in both his hands. There's a lot he could talk about; his strength, his handsome face, his smile and hidden, wicked sense of humour. An unconventional subject for a romantic poem, maybe, but he's just as worthy of it as he was his immortalisation in all the stories in Diarmuid's own time.]

That, my love, is ridiculous.

[ He steals another kiss as he continues to hold Diarmuid close to him. His laugh warms Berserker further, enough to get another smile out of him. A few more lingering moments like this before continuing home...The only thing that would make this better is if he felt well enough to fly. A perfect end cap to this night would be a flight over the city to their new home.

Soon. ]

It is absolutely ridiculous...I have to wonder if you'd do it. Are you that hopelessly in love you'd write a poem?

[ An affirmative answer wouldn't surprise him in the slightest. ]

Edited 2020-03-23 04:48 (UTC)

Mareuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-all [closed]

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