Post by opalgirl on Jan 30, 2010 16:45:54 GMT 10
Title: What To Do (When Your Best Friend Is Singing While Standing On A Table).
Rating: PG-13.
Prompt: #7 - Excess.
Genre: General/Humor.
Summary: The Riders work hard, and sometimes get to party harder. Miri has to rescue Evin from making even more of an idiot out of himself than he already has.
“Miri?” Farant stuck his head up into the hayloft, his fair hair mussed. “Hey, Miri. C’mere.”
She frowned at him. “No.” And then, because simply telling him ‘no’ went against her raising, Miri sighed. “What is it?”
Her comrade laughed so hard she was afraid he might fall from the ladder. “You’d know if you’d stayed at the party with the rest of us. Mithros! C’mon and see for yourself, Mir.”
She rolled up the letter from home – she’d come up to think over how to reply to her mother, for there were some things mothers didn’t need to be privy to – and tucked It into her purse. “All right, all right. I’m coming. Do us all a favor and don’t fall down off that ladder.”
Miri watched as he nimbly climbed down the narrow wooden ladder, and then clambered down herself. She walked with him back towards the mess, able to hear the noise from within as they approached.
The light in the mess hall was unpleasantly bright, after some time spent in the dim loft. The Riders had been carousing when she’d left: drinking, dancing, eating, and playing cards or throwing dice. The atmosphere was still too bright and much too loud, but their games seemed to be forgotten as they all focused on one table in the center of the big room.
Miri rolled her eyes, when she saw who they were watching, and Farant howled with laughter.
“Go on, sing us a song!” someone cried, and the sodding Player readily obliged, standing atop a table that had only been half-cleared.
“He’ll ask me why I didn’t stop him from being stupid tomorrow,” she grumbled to no one in particular. “Why I didn’t make him stop making a fool of himself.”
“Isn’t your problem,” Farant said cheerfully, slapping her on the shoulder, and someone pressed a mug of ale into her hands.
“Evin.” Miri wriggled through the crowd, ignoring the protests, and set the mug down on a nearby table. “Wave-Walker save us.”
“Miri! Where’ve you… been? Mir, c’mere!” her drunken friend shouted, swaying a bit on the tabletop as he tried to offer his hand to her.
“No, Evin. Get off the table,” she said, firmly. “You’re going to bed.”
“’m not yet,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you are,” she told him, planting her hands squarely on her hips. “If you sleep, you can’t fall off the table and dent your silly, drunken head.”
“’m not silly!” Evin cried, gesturing at nothing.
“Oh, never mind. Evin Larse, you sodding idiot, do not make me drag you down from there. Or I just might kill you myself.”
“Gods.” Evin slumped down on the bench beside her, the following morning. “How’d I ever get to bed last night?”
Miri snorted. “Osip,” she said, pointing to the dark-haired and slender male Rider from the Fifteenth who sat across the room, “and I had to haul you up the stairs.”
Evin blinked. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Next time, I mightn’t be around to rescue you. D’you remember standing on top of the table?”
“No….” Evin trailed off, sounding confused. “Miri, what did I do?”
She laughed, and snatched her roll back from him. “I’m not telling you.”
“Mir, that’s not fair,” he whined, as she tucked the roll into her pocket.
“Is too. I’m the one who had to haul you from here back to the barracks because you couldn’t walk without falling over. And who said I played fair?”
She grinned at him and took her tray to the kitchen, leaving Evin to stare after her. She could almost hear his thoughts, and it served him right. He would learn, maybe after hearing the tales of what he’d done last night around the fire enough times.
Rating: PG-13.
Prompt: #7 - Excess.
Genre: General/Humor.
Summary: The Riders work hard, and sometimes get to party harder. Miri has to rescue Evin from making even more of an idiot out of himself than he already has.
***
“Miri?” Farant stuck his head up into the hayloft, his fair hair mussed. “Hey, Miri. C’mere.”
She frowned at him. “No.” And then, because simply telling him ‘no’ went against her raising, Miri sighed. “What is it?”
Her comrade laughed so hard she was afraid he might fall from the ladder. “You’d know if you’d stayed at the party with the rest of us. Mithros! C’mon and see for yourself, Mir.”
She rolled up the letter from home – she’d come up to think over how to reply to her mother, for there were some things mothers didn’t need to be privy to – and tucked It into her purse. “All right, all right. I’m coming. Do us all a favor and don’t fall down off that ladder.”
Miri watched as he nimbly climbed down the narrow wooden ladder, and then clambered down herself. She walked with him back towards the mess, able to hear the noise from within as they approached.
The light in the mess hall was unpleasantly bright, after some time spent in the dim loft. The Riders had been carousing when she’d left: drinking, dancing, eating, and playing cards or throwing dice. The atmosphere was still too bright and much too loud, but their games seemed to be forgotten as they all focused on one table in the center of the big room.
Miri rolled her eyes, when she saw who they were watching, and Farant howled with laughter.
“Go on, sing us a song!” someone cried, and the sodding Player readily obliged, standing atop a table that had only been half-cleared.
“He’ll ask me why I didn’t stop him from being stupid tomorrow,” she grumbled to no one in particular. “Why I didn’t make him stop making a fool of himself.”
“Isn’t your problem,” Farant said cheerfully, slapping her on the shoulder, and someone pressed a mug of ale into her hands.
“Evin.” Miri wriggled through the crowd, ignoring the protests, and set the mug down on a nearby table. “Wave-Walker save us.”
“Miri! Where’ve you… been? Mir, c’mere!” her drunken friend shouted, swaying a bit on the tabletop as he tried to offer his hand to her.
“No, Evin. Get off the table,” she said, firmly. “You’re going to bed.”
“’m not yet,” he mumbled.
“Yes, you are,” she told him, planting her hands squarely on her hips. “If you sleep, you can’t fall off the table and dent your silly, drunken head.”
“’m not silly!” Evin cried, gesturing at nothing.
“Oh, never mind. Evin Larse, you sodding idiot, do not make me drag you down from there. Or I just might kill you myself.”
*****
“Gods.” Evin slumped down on the bench beside her, the following morning. “How’d I ever get to bed last night?”
Miri snorted. “Osip,” she said, pointing to the dark-haired and slender male Rider from the Fifteenth who sat across the room, “and I had to haul you up the stairs.”
Evin blinked. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh. Next time, I mightn’t be around to rescue you. D’you remember standing on top of the table?”
“No….” Evin trailed off, sounding confused. “Miri, what did I do?”
She laughed, and snatched her roll back from him. “I’m not telling you.”
“Mir, that’s not fair,” he whined, as she tucked the roll into her pocket.
“Is too. I’m the one who had to haul you from here back to the barracks because you couldn’t walk without falling over. And who said I played fair?”
She grinned at him and took her tray to the kitchen, leaving Evin to stare after her. She could almost hear his thoughts, and it served him right. He would learn, maybe after hearing the tales of what he’d done last night around the fire enough times.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!