1627, Fire Season, Fertility Week, Clayday Eve
Context
Varanis and Berra settle down to drinking at Nochet’s primary Temple of Uleria. Xenofos is there for moral support. The binge drinking session begins in Drinking Party (Part I).
Part 9/11: Let’s not go climbing!
Events
The Vingan pushes herself upright, wobbles, then steadies herself. She’s managing just fine, but that might be because she’s still sitting down. She grabs a second piece of melon and then sets it down to refill her wine cup. It’s pretty clear that if she is allowed to do the pouring, she’s going to miss.1Not a fumble, but an impressive failure on a CON*3.
Berra just watches, like getting back onto the couch is too much effort right now. She seems comfortable, however.
“Would you be more comfortable on the couch, Berra?” Xenofos asks.
“Probably?” She looks up at him. “Why?” No art to her. No civilisation. Just a confused barbarian confronted with furniture beyond her ken.
He sits up. “Do you wish help getting back up?”
“That’s probably going to be wise, to be honest.” Berra looks at the scribe. “I should warn you I’m getting to the point where I also need to use the other room, but we can find someone else to help if I can’t walk in about that long. Maybe Varanis an’ me can go together.”
He nods and offers his hand for Berra to get up.
Berra is sober enough that it is easily done – she has not yet reached the stage where concentration is impossible. It is merely that balance is a little off. “Thank you,” she tells Xenofos gravely.
Varanis giggles. Then her eyes widen and she says, “Um. Might be a good idea. I’m suddenly not sure I have room for more wine.” She lurches to her feet, wavers, but manages not to fall over. “I need to go thattaway!” She points and then follows her own pointing.
The flautist follows, close enough to catch her if need be, but not touching.
Berra slumps down a bit when Varanis is gone. “Whaaa. She really needs to get drunk.”
Xenofos nods. “So it seems. What about you?”
Berra shrugs. “Be rude not to… no, not that rude… alright, maybe. But she needs company. Maybe we should’ve sent for Xenofos.” She runs that past herself. “Venlar.”
“She looks pretty ready to me. But that can still mean she’ll be up for hours.” He nods to her. “Thank you Berra.”
“S’fine.” Berra grins, and waves at the hostess as well. “Company’s good. Got food and drink an music. But if I fall over we might need Vellar. Ven. Lar. I’m not used to wine right now.”
He looks at direction Varanis vanished and then at their hostess. “I think this house can give her company if we are not enough…”
“Fair enough.” Berra looks tiredly pleased at that.
When Varanis returns, she’s having an animated conversation with the flautist about the roof of the temple and whether or not she’s climbed this one in particular. She looks substantially less wobbly.
Berra is smiling at Xenofos by then. It looks like he is in mild danger of drunk hugging.
“I wanna climb!” Varanis proclaims. “But I have decided not to.” She drops onto her couch and scoops up her wine. “A drunking song! We need a drunking song.”
There is a moment of horror from Berra, but only a short one. It vanishes with the second proclamation from Varanis. “Drinking song… Short chorus, long time to drink while someone else is singing?”
“That was nice from you, Vareena,” the hostess says. “Do you think you can hit that bowl over there from the sofa?” The Vingan looks confused when Davorelia suggests hitting the bowl. Then she brightens. She snatches up an olive and tosses it in the general direction of the bowl. She misses.
“Ah a song, of course.” Davorelia starts a familiar tune.
Berra joins in the song, not well, but quietly enough that it does not make much difference.
It takes Varanis a bit to pick up the song. Once she’s worked out the chorus, she sings enthusiastically, albeit not as well as earlier. And during the verses, she rewards herself by getting serious about the wine.2Cup #12 She seems set to drink herself under the table before the end of the song.
Berra takes the time while Varanis is busy to slip out herself, muttering something about needing more air and less water. It is probably a phrase she picked up in some Regiment somewhere.
- 1Not a fumble, but an impressive failure on a CON*3.
- 2Cup #12
