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Entry tags:
[ OPEN ] Mareuer Event & Catch-All
Who: Waver Velvet & YOU??
When: throughout March
Where: Aefenglom
What: working, chilling, some festival stuff maybe???
Warnings: n/a for now; will add as needed
a. teatime & overtime
Who knew co-running a small business would involve so much... paperwork? And math?? Sometimes, when even Waver gets tired of the more tedious necessities, a change of scenery is good for motivation.
He likes Diplomatea. It's comfortable, the atmosphere is calming, and the scent is familiar (especially when Diarmuid is on shift). Generally, it's a great place to spend a couple of hours sipping tea and catching up on inventory logbooks or budget or whatever it is he needs to get done that doesn't involve actually being at Inkchanted that day.
The downside is he does tend to take up a whole table for himself, notebooks spread out everywhere, racking up empty teacups. Sometimes, books even spill onto the second chair, or he uses it to house his satchel or briefcase. Oh-- Did you want to borrow that? Were you looking for a place to sit and noticed this table-hog in the way? Whoops!!
Or maybe it's time for a concerned friend to tell this idiot to take a freaking break once in a while. Seriously. How many cups of black tea has he had??
b. thunder only happens when it's raining
[ As if the rain wasn't enough of a pain in the ass. Growing up in England, Waver's plenty used to it in theory, but with spring on the horizon (and the recent trips to the Wilde, where it was sunny even if it was a bit too hot), just because he's not unaccustomed to rain doesn't mean that Waver's not ready for it to stop.
Especially when the sky decides to open up rather suddenly on a hitherto clear day, dumping heavy rain and deafening thunder into the city streets.
The harsh noise makes him jump, canine ears pinned down flat against his hair, heart beating fast. The distant rumbling of another wave of thunder makes his neck prickle and his fists clench. Did it always used to bother him so much...?
Caught out without an umbrella, Waver makes a dash for the nearest awning, barely even checking if that space is already occupied by anyone with a similar idea. ]
c. fun & festivities
"...are you supposed to eat these?"
Waver stares down at the clear (presumably alcoholic?) beverage he's just been handed by a native passing them around, frowning in vague confusion at the flowers floating on top.
When he looks up, though, the laughing harpy woman who'd pressed the cup into his hands is gone. Maybe someone else heard his question and has an opinion on the matter?
Or maybe it's about twenty seconds later, at which point Waver is holding one of the blossoms between his fingers, staring at it with a suspicious frown before delicately tearing a single petal off between his teeth.
Hm.
(( ooc: hmu with brackets or prose -- either is fine!!
want to plot something else? need a custom starter? PM this journal or PP me @ gunsandchocolate and let me know! ))
When: throughout March
Where: Aefenglom
What: working, chilling, some festival stuff maybe???
Warnings: n/a for now; will add as needed
a. teatime & overtime
Who knew co-running a small business would involve so much... paperwork? And math?? Sometimes, when even Waver gets tired of the more tedious necessities, a change of scenery is good for motivation.
He likes Diplomatea. It's comfortable, the atmosphere is calming, and the scent is familiar (especially when Diarmuid is on shift). Generally, it's a great place to spend a couple of hours sipping tea and catching up on inventory logbooks or budget or whatever it is he needs to get done that doesn't involve actually being at Inkchanted that day.
The downside is he does tend to take up a whole table for himself, notebooks spread out everywhere, racking up empty teacups. Sometimes, books even spill onto the second chair, or he uses it to house his satchel or briefcase. Oh-- Did you want to borrow that? Were you looking for a place to sit and noticed this table-hog in the way? Whoops!!
Or maybe it's time for a concerned friend to tell this idiot to take a freaking break once in a while. Seriously. How many cups of black tea has he had??
b. thunder only happens when it's raining
[ As if the rain wasn't enough of a pain in the ass. Growing up in England, Waver's plenty used to it in theory, but with spring on the horizon (and the recent trips to the Wilde, where it was sunny even if it was a bit too hot), just because he's not unaccustomed to rain doesn't mean that Waver's not ready for it to stop.
Especially when the sky decides to open up rather suddenly on a hitherto clear day, dumping heavy rain and deafening thunder into the city streets.
The harsh noise makes him jump, canine ears pinned down flat against his hair, heart beating fast. The distant rumbling of another wave of thunder makes his neck prickle and his fists clench. Did it always used to bother him so much...?
Caught out without an umbrella, Waver makes a dash for the nearest awning, barely even checking if that space is already occupied by anyone with a similar idea. ]
c. fun & festivities
"...are you supposed to eat these?"
Waver stares down at the clear (presumably alcoholic?) beverage he's just been handed by a native passing them around, frowning in vague confusion at the flowers floating on top.
When he looks up, though, the laughing harpy woman who'd pressed the cup into his hands is gone. Maybe someone else heard his question and has an opinion on the matter?
Or maybe it's about twenty seconds later, at which point Waver is holding one of the blossoms between his fingers, staring at it with a suspicious frown before delicately tearing a single petal off between his teeth.
Hm.
(( ooc: hmu with brackets or prose -- either is fine!!
want to plot something else? need a custom starter? PM this journal or PP me @ gunsandchocolate and let me know! ))
no subject
"Thank you." Finally, he decides to accept. If it will help Soren feel a little less guilty, even by a tiny bit, letting him have that is the least Waver can do. He knows how heavy that weight is. He knows it won't do much, but that they can try anyway, just like he keeps trying every day.
"I was just..." He taps a neatly-trimmed claw on the edge of the notebook spread open in front of him. "...going over some supplies we're low on to make up a list for new orders. There's been more business than we expected. But, er, I could use a break, probably."
no subject
"It looked like you've been at it for a while," he begins. "Hectic as it sounds, more business is always better than less. Do you have enough hands to meet the current demand?"
It really doesn't seem like it, what with Waver trooping along on his lonesome staring at figures and etching at paper for hours on end.
no subject
"Kind of... When we make sure to space out appointments and such, Caster can handle the actual spellwork and tattooing portion, and he's got some people helping him out. But a lot of prep-time and materials goes into each project, and I want to make sure to keep everything organized so we don't run into any issues with shortages or mislabeling or anything like that. And, of course, there's the money."
Waver sets the tea back down with a shrug.
"Basically, it's a lot of paperwork."
no subject
"I see..." He tries to keep the conversation flowing so it doesn't dry up into the tense silence that would bother the both of them. "Are you stuck doing most of it?"
no subject
"But it's not like I'm actually 'stuck' with it. I prefer to take care of this stuff and keep everything organized. Besides, it's not like I can contribute much in terms of... magical ability." That last is almost a scoff.
"We each focus on our strengths."
no subject
Tension settles back into the cracks that yawn wide in any beat of mutual silence. They're monsters, too: they can sense it. Soren's mouth turns down, his eyebrows slanting the same cant. This is asinine, really. It's just getting in the way of their ability to hold a normal conversation. What is there to hide? They both know what happened to them, and avoiding a subject, however uncomfortable it is, is doing them no favors. If Waver isn't going to bring it up, then Soren decides he's going to put an end to this silent evasive dance once and for all. He hushes his voice to rein it a little further from earshot of passersby, leans in a little.
"Look. We both know what we're trying to avoid talking about. If it's not bothering you, then it's certainly bothering me. When I approached you, you acted like I was going to corner and ravage you with my teeth. Something tells me this has everything to do with the kidnapping incident. Did they let me attack you?"
no subject
Waver's shoulders stiffen at the mention of the incident, and he swallows visibly in discomfort but doesn't try to change the subject again or even outright reject it. After a moment of tense silence, he finally sighs and manages a nod.
"Of course it's bothering me, Soren. But what are we supposed to do about it? I'd rather not dwell at this point."
Bu the way he asks that question--
Waver hesitates.
"...do you really not remember at all?" His ears droop, eyes fixed on his cup unable to meet Soren's face.
"I... I don't remember some things, either. I understand. I don't... blame you, you know."
no subject
He wouldn't want to.
How many others had he maimed against his will? Killed? Eaten? The phantom taste and stench of viscera haunt him, black and red pulses of his intermittent insanity... Moreover, if he really got let loose to attack, how in the world had the scrawny, bound, and injured Turnskin survive him? A bit of sickness swirls in his gut at the reminder. His shoulders sink a little as he ruminates on the matter.
"The last thing I remember was... well, not much, if I'm being honest." Apprehensive chattering. Scolding. A sharp, bitten-off yelp. All of the emotions of the place making his mind utter mayhem. He shakes his head and gives up on detail. "Everything was blending together. I don't recall ever coming off that wall or our of my binds. The next thing I knew, I was crammed back in another cell."
no subject
All of it. The feelings-- and even the missing time, the terror of not knowing how he'd been used as a weapon against other prisoners for no reason but their jailers' cruel fun. He knows what it's like to be on either end, unfortunately.
He doesn't want to remember. He doesn't want to linger on this.
"You hurt me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
No, of course not. But it slips out anyway, sharp with frustration and discomfort like pins and needles under his skin. What does Soren want to know? How much it hurt? How the blood was everywhere? How he'd passed out thinking he might really die down there chained up like a beast?
"It was bad," Waver snaps, the most severe understatement. "Really bad. I don't want to keep talking about it."
And then, more quietly: "...please."
no subject
"..."
The waitress scoots in at this moment, her face falling in quiet concern as she sets their tea and china between them. When she chirps that their tea is ready, it's bright, performative and pretending the air isn't so thick with the heavy emotions stewing between them. Soren mutters a cold thank-you and she flits away as briskly as she can.
At last, he finds it in him to say something.
"...Fine." A beat of silence passes before he revises that. "One more question, if I..."
He remembers how he felt after asking this question of Mettaton, who gave him what he wanted but left him wanting. Even if he got an answer to this particular question, what would it satisfy? The dragon sinks back into his seat and retreats that notion with a shake of his head.
"...No, never mind." He empties a faintly tremulous sigh. "I don't know what I hope to have answered by interrogating you with this nonsense. We're done."
He should probably leave.
no subject
While Soren struggles with his words, trying to speak up again and then silencing himself, Waver twirls his empty cup in his hands while the tea steeps, letting the awkwardness linger for a few moments longer before it becomes too much to bear.
He looks up.
"One more question," he agrees, tiredly. His voice doesn't sound like brittle shards of glass anymore, just heavy and quiet, resigned.
He's not the only one who suffered. Soren deserves empathy too.
"Go ahead."
no subject
"...Was I transformed? Fully, as in no longer human-shaped whatsoever."
no subject
After a moment, he shakes his head.
"No. Not much more than you are now. Some- some slightly more, ah, draconic characteristics, but nothing I'd call a full transformation."
no subject
Even if he had been a dragon, what would he learn that he doesn't already know by now? Perhaps another reason why Waver may have survived him. He probably couldn't have managed otherwise. The real reason baffles and escapes him.
Bile swims to think on this too extensively. It's pointless to contemplate any further. He removes his hand from his lap and banishes thoughts of this nature to the dark but expansive corner of his mind with a chase of soothing chamomile.
Isn't tea time with Soren fun?