faderift | and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

WHO: Mia Rutherford and OPEN
WHAT: She spends a lot of time taking care of everyone else. She needs a drink or five to unwind before getting back to it.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Herald's Rest
NOTES: Alcohol? Bad decisions?

She's not proud of herself for this. But there are breaking points, and she's nearing one, and it's better to deal with them pre-emptively than not, and have a fuss be made later. There are things that are completely out of her control, Maker knows, and she needs to make her peace with them.

Wine helps. So does the ambiance of the tavern, even if she sits alone. There's a homesickness that claws at her, though she refuses to let it take root too deeply. There's work to be done here, after all--

No. No work tonight. Just...relax. Listen to the music and the noise and the banter and try to let it go.

Easier said than done, but she'll muddle through it. Stubbornness is a Rutherford family trait, apparently.

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Now here is a new face. A somber face on a lovely woman will not do as far as Zevran's mind goes. He finishes the cheerful refrain of the last song before passing his lute off to the next musician, sidling up next to her with a curve of a smile. "Why so sad, mia bella? Is there some ruffian that should be accosted for leaving you quite so glum?"

Oh, Maker preserve her.

For a moment she just gives the elf an incredulous look before shaking her head, taking another deep drink from her glass. "I'm quite capable of defending my own honor," she replies at last, her gaze focusing elsewhere in the hopes that he gets the message. "If you're looking for a damsel in distress, I suggest looking elsewhere."

"But of course you are, no one so fine, so stern could be in need of outside intervention." He lounges against the bar, not at all deterred by her disregard. "Perhaps I simply find you stressed and wish to assist you in relieving it."

"Of course you did. So altruistic you must be."

She refuses to look back at him, to give him even that much satisfaction. She'll be fine, left to her own devices. She always has been. And she certainly doesn't need some flirtatious Antivan trying to rescue her from her troubles.

Not unless he wishes to relieve the headache already starting to build and take his leave.

"I live to serve, bella. Perhaps a song might help you smile? Something of home- I know quite a few Fereldan tunes." That can do wonders for someone that is homesick- and everyone is at least a little homesick. Skyhold is far from home for most, even those that are not from other worlds. Compared to the mountain and the chill Antiva feels so terribly distant. Fereldan weather this may be; but it lacks the charm of the lowlands.

The weather is not so different from that of Honnleath, it's true, but she is not keen for the reminder. It's too difficult to recall the simpler times without recalling too how it all ended. The years have changed them all, and too many memories have turned bittersweet with the passing.

Some of the edge leaves her voice with a sigh. "That's kind of you, but no. Perhaps there are others here who would appreciate being serenaded, but I fear you would find a poor audience in me."

"There must be something I might do- a lovely woman such as yourself should not look so stern and somber. You should be well pleased at all hours. I must wonder if someone or something has failed you in some way to see you quite so weary." He taps the bar and two glasses are slid his way- empty.

"A drink, then? Fine Antivan brandy. If nothing else this will warm you somewhat; make the world seem less dim."

"I have a drink."

Though it is woefully close to empty, she's not about to admit as much. The empty glasses are given a look of suspicion, and little of it leaves her gaze when she glances back up at Zevran.

"You're persistent. Some might find that charming. But as I have already told you, I'm hardly in need of rescuing."

"And it is almost finished, Trust me, this is far better and will soothe your ire well enough. Or at least make whatever vexes you aside from my very fine self more bearable." He sets the teardrop shaped bottle on the counter, the golden liquid within glimmering in the light.

"How fortunate that I am making no attempt to rescue you."

At least he knows he's being vexing. Likely doing so on purpose, in an effort to wear her down. Has that ever worked, she wonders? Women must find it completely insufferable. She certainly does.

"I know what you're doing," she replies tartly, though her gaze flickers briefly to the bottle. She knows what he's about. Surely that makes it safer than it would otherwise. Her lips thin briefly.

"One drink. And the understanding that it goes no further than that."

"Offering a drink?" The most innocent expression in all of Thedas is turned upon her. "I would not dare presume tread where I am unwanted. All I wish is to bring some small joy to a woman that seems in need of it and in high command of herself and those around her."

He pours a measure into each glass, pocketing it afterward.

"One drink. That is all I ask."

And it would be unreasonable to send him away, wouldn't it? That's what's so infuriating about the entire situation, and for a moment her hand lifts, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. The kicked puppy look isn't helping matters.

"...very well. One drink," she utters, in a tone of resignation.

Ellana knows the sight of someone in low spirits, as she's been the same way recently herself. Tucking herself into the back corner of the tavern and nursing a drink didn't seem to help either, but talking to a friend did. Unfortunately, she doesn't know this woman, and it would probably do no good to offer her an ear if she needs one.

Yet it's difficult to just leave the woman be. So Ellana comes over, her drink in her hand, to stand beside the stranger.

"It's a lovely song she's playing, isn't it?"

"Just the one." He lifts his to her in a warm salute. "This is sipping Brandy as well, I would recommend you take it slow."

One drink will be all he needs to have her name, and perhaps some shred of her regard. Or a stolen kiss. Or a thoroughly vexed woman.

He's still new, still a little wary about spending too much time in public places, but seeing someone sitting and drinking by themselves speaks to him just a little. Maybe she's alone by choice. If so, she'll no doubt tell him. Otherwise, she could perhaps use the company as he could.

Anders comes over with a mug of ale and nods at the chair next to her.

"May I join you? I promise I won't try to sing."

A few drinks earlier and she might have said no. But perhaps she's more lonely than she first realized, or would ever admit to. Just having someone sitting there sharing a drink in companionable silence might be better than nothing at all.

There's a wry smile and she gestures freely to the seat. "The bard isn't terrible. I'm afraid I don't know half of the songs she sings," she admits, fingers trailing along the outside of her glass.

"I suppose being well-traveled must help."

It's distilled from wine, she knows to be careful with it, and the warning gets him a hard-eyed look before she too raises her glass. It's only polite. He did provide it, after all.

There's a small, measured sip, and she knows one glass is likely all she'll need. Maker, what was the intent of this in the first place? She hadn't meant to cause a scene. Word getting back to Cullen was the last thing she needed.

The glass lowered, her expression slowly falling with it.

"It is."

She remembers the attempt at lute lessons when she was younger. How futile the effort had been. But she still enjoyed the sound of the instrument in more capable hands, and a quiet smile tugged into place in spite of herself.

"I'm afraid I don't know the words, but the tune is lovely."

It's well into the early part of the morning, when Katniss comes into the tavern. She's just cleaned off the mud from the road, she's tired as the Maker's Balls but she's starving and she doesn't want to wake the kitchen staff.

Dark circles under her eyes, and her walk is less smooth than it usually is, but she manages a smile for those who call out to her drunkenly before she moves towards the bar itself.

And finds, to her great surprise, Mia.

"... I thought we weren't resorting to drink just yet." She stated with a wry smile, as she gestured to the barkeep, and dropped herself down next to the older woman.

"I'm aware." Mia's fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose with a heavy sigh. "A temporary lapse. Allow me that. It's...been a very trying day."

She's not drunk, not yet, but she's certainly been drinking. It's obvious from the faint slur in her words, a softness to those usually clipped tones.

"Yes, I figured that. Typically I would have heard more, 'Oh Katniss, you're home!' joy there." Katniss pulled up one leg, ordering a whole chicken and some bread and cheese and fruit.

"What's happened?" She eyed Mia, at that slur, "It must have been bad."

And at that she hesitates. It does not good to propagate the rumor, damning as it is. It's not as though she doesn't trust Katniss. She absolutely does, but...

Think of how the girl's heart would be broken. She'd always been so transparent in her feelings about Cullen. How much easier all of this would have been. Mia's expression turns a little crestfallen before she reaches for Katniss's hand, patting it gently.

"Disappointing, I'd say. More than anything else."

Edited 2015-12-30 19:44 (UTC)

"Yes, I've found you can replace the foreign words with your own in your mind. This one is slow and soulful, so I imagine it's about lost love. And now I don't want to know what the actual words are, in case the song is completely different."

Ellana pauses to lean against the wooden pillar beside the table.

"I'm Ellana."

Now that isn't the point of the drink at all- but he does not wish to trouble her by being quite so forward after her first sip. It's taken enough badgering to have her attempt and accept it after all. He remains quiet a moment, a warm companion at her elbow, offering nothing.

After a sip of his own, he murmurs with rather surprising seriousness: "You remind me a bit of an old friend who also cared a great deal for good wine and more...proper company."

It's enough to drag her back from the edge of melancholy, thankfully. Her nose wrinkles faintly as she looks at Zevran, unsure how to take this sudden sincerity from him.

"Do I now?" But it's not accusatory. There is some curiosity there. "How patient they must have been with you."

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and there's a glass on the table, they say it's gonna ease all my pain

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