nostalgiabomb | open post, vol. 2

[ He listens silently, thankfully knowing well enough that his color commentary is absolutely not welcome at this point. He doesn't expect her to offer as much information as she does – mostly because he's accustomed to dealing with cagey people, who would only offer up the bare minimum or would summarily tell him to fuck off, if they felt he was prying too much.

So he sits and listens, elbows on the table and a hand curled loosely around his tankard, his thumb running along the tankard's lip. He grimaces as she describes her mother's murder, and he's quiet for a second, digesting this information. ]

How did you manage to get away?

[ She lifts her head, sitting up to take a longer drink from her cider.

When she sets her tankard down, she's speaking again. ]

The exorcist had a boy with him – his son. He was trying to teach him how to hunt us, but the boy found me before his father did.

He actually... he listened to me. [ Her voice is softer, a little wistful. ] He believed me, that we didn't hurt anyone. So when his father asked if he found any pups, he lied. He let me run.

[ Peter almost mentions that that sounds familiar, considering how the two of them met the other day, but he decides against it. ]

Have you seen the exorcist's son since?

I went back to the village, maybe five years later. I saw him again, but he hadn't followed in his father's footsteps.

[ Thankfully. ]

I hope he's living a good life now.

[ She takes a longer drink from her tankard, draining it, and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. ]

[ He takes another drink from his own tankard, though he doesn't polish it off, as she has. ]

He seems like he must've been a decent guy.

[ Though Peter wisely refrains from offering any assurances that his decency would probably lead to a comfortable life.

He's cynical like that. ]

Maybe you'll cross paths with him again some day.

[ Yan shrugs, dismissive. ]

He moved away, the last time I went to the village.

[ So— the likelihood feels painfully – a shame, but the nature of life.

Shifting in her seat, Yan nudges away her tankard, licking her lips. ]

I can see why people drink this one.

[ He hums softly in acknowledgment, sipping at his ale again. ]

It's a good beginner's drink.

[ And he offers it a little teasingly, trying to lighten the mood, at least a little. ]

You wanna be careful with those, though. The sweeter they are, the easier they are to drink, and before you know it—

[ He points at the ceiling. ]

Rafters.

[ She wrinkles her nose at him, but a hint of a smile is tugging at her lips. ]

I wouldn't fall out of the rafters.

Uh-huh.

[ In that flat, even way that expresses every ounce of his doubt. ]

It doesn't count if you go all— [ A vague wave of his hand. ] —foxy, you know. That's just cheating.

Says who?

[ But, apparently, since she's finished her cider, she reaches over, a little curious as she wraps her hand around his tankard. ]

Can I try it again?

[ He blinks at her when she reaches for the tankard – he had thought she had been pretty clear about how disgusting she found the stuff – but he releases his grip on it. ]

Knock yourself out. But just to be clear, just 'cause you've got some cider in you isn't gonna change the taste of this stuff.

I doubt you're gonna like it any more than you did before.

But you said the point isn't the taste.

[ And she feels... a little floaty?

So more is better.

She draws the tankard over, sniffing it first, before lifting it for another tentative sip. Again, she wrinkles her nose as she swallows, licking the drops of ale from her lips. ]

Ugh.

[ He laughs a little at that completely expected response. ]

It's not about the taste, but you also have to build up immunity to the taste.

And it's a better idea to do it over time than try to brute force your way through it in one sitting. Because, again.

[ He gestures upward once more. ]

[ Despite her evident displeasure, she still sips again at the ale, a second and third time, before she slides it back across the table. ]

Then that was me building immunity. You can keep it now.

[ He laughs again, a little warmer. ]

You know you don't have to do that, right? You can stick to cider.

[ This, as he's pulling the tankard closer to his side of the table. ]

You feelin' okay, though? Could you walk in a straight line if you had to?

I feel fine.

[ A light statement, though she gestures a bit, wiggling her fingers at him. ]

A little... light?

Probably a good place to cut you off, then.

[ And though her tankard is empty, he still reaches over to set it aside. More of a symbolic gesture than anything. ]

Maybe one of these days you can try getting drunk, but maybe not when we've got plans to meet with that alchemist at sun up.

[ She doesn't seem about to protest, because he's being perfectly reasonable; she can at least concede that. ]

That seems fair.

[ She props her chin up on her palm, watching him quietly. ]

Do you like being drunk?

Absolutely.

[ An easy enough answer, and one he offers brightly. ]

But there's a time and a place for it. And in a tiny town when we've got plans for the morning is neither the time nor the place.

[ She hums in easy agreement. ]

You're definitely right.

[ At least he's responsible? ]

But I want to see what it's like, some other time.

[ He lifts his tankard as if in salute. ]

And if you and I do end up traveling together, I'm sure we can make that happen.

[ Yan seems pleased by this concession, and she nods with a light smile. ]

I will probably hold you to that.

[ She glances at his tankard, then towards the stairs. ]

Should we go up?

[ He follows her gaze before draining the last of his ale. He sets it down heavily on the table before pushing back from it, the legs of his chair scraping lightly across the wooden floor. ]

Yeah. I guess we should try to get an early start.

Think you can manage the walk?

Of course I can.

[ She pushes away from the table, getting to her feet, but as soon as she stands up, she blinks a few times, startled by the sudden lightheadedness. It's not terrible, and she doesn't feel completely off-balance, but it's strange. ]

... Huh.

[ She rests a hand on the chair as she steadies herself, like she's evaluating the sensation. ]

[ He waits patiently as she gets her bearings. Thankfully, she doesn't fall flat on her face (and he sends a quick word of gratitude to whatever gods are listening, because he's pretty sure that half-elven barkeep might descend upon him in a righteous fury).

When she seems steady enough, he offers her a quick, tight-lipped smile. ]

Yeah. We call that being tipsy.

Feel okay?

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