RP:Getting Toasted
Summary: Following the Cenril Charity Bazaar, a few people meet up at the Jolly Roger in Rynvale for an impromptu afterparty. The obvious hilight of the night is Leoxander's announcement that he and Loravelle are engaged. Loravelle tries her hand at bartending. Lita is excited to discuss wedding details. Nortengaal is here to have a have a good time. GOREHILT is too drunk.
The Jolly Roger
Loravelle busied herself with cleaning up the Jolly Roger while on mom duty for Chee and Jee. Somehow the maned wolf pups made their way up to the stage and decided Leo's drum kit was theirs to play with, particularly the pair of drumsticks that she tried to wrestle from the one-eyed brother, but apart from slightly chewed up drumsticks that she now had sticking out of her head to hold her hair up (and keep them away from maned wolf puppy teeth), the drum kit wasn't damaged. They're curled up in front of the kick drum dozing, while Lora is perched on a bar stool at the bar itself, filling up another page in their shared sketchbook of not so great sketches of both pups with a stick of charcoal. She lacks Leo's skill, but it's fun nonetheless. The earlier pages looked less terrible, with ideas drawn out for a suncatcher for the next shindig in Enchantment that she wanted to talk to Leo about going to, if only for the contest and an excuse to be crafty. One of the boys – probably Chee, decided he didn't want to pretend sleeping anymore since Lora looked busy, and he wanted to sniff at Leo's drum kit some more. Unfortunately for her and Jee, the more mischievous of the two pups stepped on the kick drum's pedal, resulting in loud bang that neither pup nor woman expected to hear. She leaps out of her skin and nearly falls off of the stool in the process. Heart still pounding over the sudden noise when she turns around and sees a very guilty looking pup scurry off into the shadows somewhere on that stage with his brother tailing him for revenge, Lora mutters a curse. “Goddammit, Git...”
Leoxander just so happened to leave the market with his satchel a little heavier. Although he wasn’t accustomed to the social flocking, he had survived; even managing not to punch anyone that day. Running into the orc on the street headed for shore, he recognized Gorehilt, even before the Gualon Grogshop evening. And perhaps just with practicing and loosening up to conversation and introductions that day, the half-orc was wrangled into company with promise of good brew at his own pub, which is where he’d told Loravelle he’d be once the event was cleared. Gore would have to forgive him for his habits - Leo already had an herb-laced smoke between his lips but was out of matches to light it as he lead the way to those painted doors. A once abandoned warehouse turned into a pub and hangout frequented by many in the past, with some memories and familiar faces trickling back in recently. As for his own face… he’d more or less forgotten about the butterfly wings and sparkles by that point, hair still half pulled back in a half bun at his crown, messy as usual, the rest of a darker underlayer of blonde around his neck where a silver chain hung. It just so happened that right after that pound of drum sounded Leo opened the door with a cautious and sharp look that was more worried than mad, stepping inside and even holding it open for Gorehilt. “Listen to you, talkin’ bad words at the kids…”
Gorehilt knows that a common vice is the swiftest ticket to fast friendships. He hasn't bothered counting his drinks or rationing his smokes tonight; he's been too busy indulging himself in carefree dissipation. Perhaps in the morning, when he awakens hung over in Rynvale of all places, he'll have the time and the impetus to reexamine his poor decisions. Unlikely, but the author can dream. So, laughing and fighting the inclination to stagger, he ducks through the open door and gets a jump off his own. "You!" He points at Loravelle. "The Frostmaw tavern." Another fast friend. "You know this guy?" He points at Leo, fights a grin, then bursts out laughing in big guffaws. Hopefully the maned wolves are accustomed to tall, noisy strangers in armor spikes. Ought he really to be wearing those drunk?
Nortengaal ’s wanderings this evening had taken him to Rynvale. A bit of a change of pace from his usual haunts, but the man isnt entirely unfamiliar with the area, having been here on some business previously. Mostly the business of finding new and interesting places to drink and maybe find a bit of trouble/fun, but other business too. Tonight his feet have brought him to one of the many docks sprinkled throughout the area, this one perhaps less savory than the others, if the furtive looks he’s been getting are any indication. His body language is tailored to indicate he’s not really interested in any of the on-goings around him, crimson eyes sliding from one thing to the next without sticking to anything in particular, and so the folks conducting their business leave him alone as he does them. A familiar scent wafts his way through the crisp night air, and he looks around to see where it might’ve come from. Spying what just might be familiar silhouette with a not familiar one entering a nearby building, he considers for a moment what his plans for the evening were, and finding them lacking he decided to follow them into what is soon revealed to be, well, a building of many things really, catching just the tail end of the unfamiliar person’s words as he walks through the door after them; “...this guy?” The guy in question is the owner of the familiar scent, Leo, whom the bearman has recently hung out with. Also in attendance is Lora, whom he has had a few interactions with, though nothing terribly substantial. Perhaps this evening will differ. He waves, speaking his greetings as he does so. “Well howdy folks, nice to see yall this evening.”
Loravelle is probably more afraid of Leo's sparkly face paint than the sound of that drum because she gives him a very long look, uncertain if she should ask if he got in a fight with a pixie and lost, or what. And his half bun...She has to touch her bound up hair while looking at his and try to suppress an amused look. Copy wolf. She'll leave the sketchbook open and drop the stick of charcoal on the page, then head behind the bar to find some wet rag for Leo to clean up his face. “And I learned it from you, Dad,” she teases about the cussing. Finding damp rag for Leo to scrub his face clean if he wants it, it looks like Lora is going to be trying her hand at playing bartender as well since it looks the rogue brought along company. She's surprised. Gorehilt? He had the horse and thought she was tough, didn't he? “You!” She points back, but with a corked bottle of some alcohol. “I can talk.” She didn't talk much in Frostmaw, but well...Announcing that you can talk is a good enough greeting, right? And of course she knows that guy. That guy being Leo. She nods, and fails at suppressing that amused look once Gorehilt starts laughing. Right. Drinks. “Whiskey?” She turns the bottle in her hand to check the label. The maned wolf cubs start making their peculiar barking noise from their spot on the stage, but Lora winces and ducks low, disappearing behind the bar to find some glasses and start pouring. “Your turn,” her typically timid voice shouts to Leo. He can reign in the kids. Is that a -third- voice? Her finger hooks around the handle of a third glass on a shelf behind the bar as she stands back up and sees Nort entering too. “Hello,” she greets, whether her voice is loud enough to carry his way over the barking or not, because of course there's more barking. There's an orc man and a werebear in the pups' sight and they're new and different and therefore folks worth barking at. She looks at Leo and starts quietly pouring drinks. She's stubbornly sticking to what she said earlier. His turn.
Leoxander wasn’t too derailed by Gorehilt’s choice of attire, even if he’d managed to punch a hole in an autographed painting earlier that day. Between the smell of face paint, half-orc, werewolf and more, Nortengaal had needed no excuse to show up in the Jolly Roger that night. He probably scented the bearman in return, but didn’t make notice of the matter since - to his surprise - he found that diverse group of people to be a pretty enjoyable bunch, so far. Not so much a lone wolf, anymore, or at all. A glance back, once inside, and he almost managed a grin at Nort’s choice of words. Leo still had forgotten about the glittered face paint smeared on his features, until Lora’ brought him that towel. Damnit. Scrubbing his face abruptly, he almost thought it was safe to assume the night wasn’t for the ladies in the J.R., yet, though he hadn’t caught Lita on the path downwind. About to say something to the werebear, it was the magic word that pulled his attention toward the bar and its new mixologist. “Whiskey.” He nodded, nodded to Nortengaal, invitation enough as he made his way toward the counter. But just as he was pointing out a bottle on the shelf he had two mongrels around his feet greeting him like he’d been gone for days. “Ohge’th’fugoff…” The rogue murmured even as he set his satchel down a moment to crouch and greet them, soon pushing their faces away as they tried to inspect or grab for the pack. “That ain’t fer you.”
Lita had scrubbed her face clean of ocean-themed paint and stowed the few things she'd bought today back at the tattoo parlor, along with the supplies they'd had in Cenril, before she'd made her way to the Jolly Roger for a drink and maybe some decent company. To her dismay, Leo is there. Kidding. She makes her way barefoot to the bar with nary a smile to those assembled, leaning halfway over the bar to reach for a bottle of honeyed whiskey. Thankfully the pirate usually kept at least one or two bottles stocked nowadays. She'll help herself to a glass after a long day of socializing in the sun.
Gorehilt has seldom been so drunk that he forgot how a bar works. He plunks himself on a barstool. Check. Dazedly, he fishes up the next step from the deep, boozy cistern of his so-called intellect. The musical chime of glass on glass prompts him. "One of those, please." He disarmingly points at the glass which, no doubt, Loravelle is already filling for him. The growing clamor of the bar is a balm to him, and he relaxes into his elbows, awash in the new old sounds of common life in a strange place. "Leo's a great guy," he confides to Loravelle. "Look at him," the half orc picks up his glass and turns to watch the dogs maul him with affection. "They love him. It's like a painting. Oh man." He wipes a hand down his face and remembers the fiasco at the bazaar. Gorehilt was now the not-so-proud owner of a punctured painting, a sort of autograph of his own to accompany the proper artist's signature. Wouldn't THAT be nice to forget. "Oh right." He looks affectionately down at his glass of amber amnesia. "Cheers." He sticks out his drink at Nortengall expectantly, whether the bearman has his own drink or not, then takes a healthy swig.
Loravelle didn't know a thing about mixing drinks but she knew how to pour alcohol into glasses or hand over a bottle if someone wanted a bottle of whatever Leo had stocked back here instead. This probably makes her a very bad bartender, but she didn't have an eye for what was top shelf alcohol and what wasn't, but figured the pirate would stop her from giving away something she shouldn't if he caught her. Lita's arrival is a relief. “Hi Ace,” she greets. Whatever happened in Cenril must have been fun, given both Lita's and Leo's face decorations. “How did you get him to put that stuff on?” she asks, though it looks like Leo's scrubbed his face clean by now. Maybe the pups are helping him out with the rest. She pours him a glass of whiskey anyway and fills the other two glasses she initially grabbed with whiskey too. It isn't the honeyed whiskey Lita favored, but that's the tattoo artists' as far as she knew. Gorehilt, Nort, and Leo can have the other stuff, and she pushes a glass toward Gorehilt first since he sat down first. “H-he is great...” Does she tell the half orc? They're kind of a thing. “He is...a work of art?” She looks over at Lita and makes a face, tries not to giggle. Maybe Lora needed a drink too.
Leoxander had heard it all today. He stood with a thorough look across the small crowd in a warehouse he’d called home. He’d been painted, insulted, praised, and complimented. He’d even seen a ghost in the form of Pappy. Lora’s book was in that satchel. Maybe it was all just some convenient dream with whiskey at the end. That didn’t seem too far fetched. Might as well go all out. He picked up whatever glass was convenient behind Gorehilt. “A toast to new friends and old.” Props to Gore, Nort, and Lita. “And to my… fiance.” There it was. He’d announced it, sober, even. Still a little red on his face, but hopefully it was the paint that lingered. Hopefully Lora was pouring herself something by that point.
Nortengaal follows the other gents to the bartop, accepting a glass of fine whiskey with a smile and a nod of thanks from Lora, who is currently playing bartender. And from the looks of it was playing dog-sitter not too long ago. Raising his glass along with the green skinned fellow he clinks them together before taking a drink from it. “Ah, theres that good burn. Been a bit since i ‘ve had a nice whisky.” he thinks to himself, settling down on a stool between the orc man and Leo. Leo’s announcement gets a double eyebrow raise from the bearman, unexpected as it was. A wide smile breaks out across his face and he takes another drink. “Fiance eh? Congrats you two! You definitely go well together.”
Lita glances from Lora to Leo and back again, feigning shock at this mention of Leo wearing stuff on his face. "What? He must've gotten that after I left!" She lies, grinning over the rim of her glass as she sips at her drink. "It was a lot harder puttin' that ruttin' booth up with him just loungin' and fannin' himself, complainin' 'cause there wasn't any booze and what not." More lies. Leo had done all the heavy lifting. She'd been distracted with pretty wooden animal carvings and stuff. "Nah, the trick is I don't ask." She offers Lora a playful wink. Lita had gotten away with a lot worse than a bit of face paint under the pirate's nose. She lifts a glass in congratulations at Leo's announcement, but it's not at all surprising considering their last conversation on the subject. She finishes her drink and refills her glass, unless Lora's inclined to continue playing bartender. "Leo, you wearin' white on the big day? You'll look rogeous as hell." She turns dark eyes back to Lora then. "Don't let 'im steal your thunder. He'll try."
Gorehilt double-takes at Lita, somehow momentarily unnerved by the sight of her… but not by the sight of a man with bear ears? He's quick to return his attention to his drink, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at that. Gorehilt taps his empty glass down on the bar and comes up for a breath. If Loravelle moves to pour him another, he'll subtly cover the mouth of the glass with his hand. Or so he had planned. Leoxander incinerates that plan with an explosive announcement, and suddenly Gorehilt realizes he will not be in a position to refuse another toast. A thin sheen of sweat forms on his brow. Courage, man. As the accumulated effects of the night's many indulges teeter precariously upon him, Gorehilt watches with mingled apprehension as the toast is poured.
Loravelle decides to try mixing a drink. There's some of that raspberry water Leo gave her on her first visit to the Jolly Roger back here and some clear stuff that if she were to guess, is vodka. She's a bad bartender and mixologist, but she isn't entirely dumb. She'll put half and half in a shot glass and hope that isn't enough to make her eyes water. Before she can take a drink, she's laughing at Lita's comments and winking right back at her. “That sounds like him...” She tries to picture the pirate lounging around and complaining that there isn't enough to drink and being a general drama king. It's a funny thought, but that soon fades away once Leo announces a toast...and she feels warmth creep up her face at his announcement about their engagement. She raises her little shot glass to toast as well, before knocking it back. Lora's got drinks to pour and she gets right to refilling Lita's glass with more honeyed whiskey. “We wear red at weddings usually.” That'll outshine white if Leo decides to wear white. Grinning at Lita, she adds, “My sisters will take care of any thunder stealing. ...All nine of them.” If the other five show up in time. They haven't even planned the wedding yet.
Lita had momentarily forgotten that Lora has a hundred thousand some-odd sisters, all of whom will likely demand to be in the wedding party. That was a traditional thing, wasn't it? She lofts a brow at Leo and then turns her gaze back to Lora. "I don't know if Leo knows that many guys willing to stand with him up there." She's trying to imagine Mahri in some fancy suit getup as best man now. It's amusing.
Leoxander replied to Nortengaal first with his comment. “We’ll see if Doctor Atwood agrees.” A little hint that he’d met his fiance’s psychiatrist that day, but he still downed his drink readily. Lita’s words earned a look with a smirk as he felt his spirits lift, and he wasn’t even buzzed. “I ain’t plannin’ on pissin’ off the gods more’n I already have, Ace. An’ I’ll be bringin’ over a crate or two of supplies to the shop in the next day. Somethin’ tells me you’ll be flooded with business.” If not soon, then definitely when Valrae’s son grew old enough to get some real ink. Glancing Gorehilt’s way, he could already assume the male might need a roof on the island that night. “If you don’t pass out here I’ll make certain Simon has digs for you to bury in.” And finally, he meant to look toward Loravelle, but the pups were literally hounding him for attention. “A’right, gods of nine hells.” A toss back of his next shot, poured for himself since Lora was knocking back the raspberry vodka. “We really need to get these gremlins a fur to sleep on.” But the rogue was in a decent… perhaps even good mood? He picked up his satchel to toss two ox hocks on the ground for them - a treat from Simon. Naturally they’d bicker over them before realization dawned they each had their own. Setting that satchel on the bar, he removed the wrapped book and set it on the counter to settle his eyes on Loravelle without a word. Just the look and waiting suggested it was for her.
Lita recognizes Nort from the shop but only vaguely. They hadn't really been introduced. Gorehily she only recognizes as someone who'd knocked over and put a hole in one of Meri's paintings earlier in the day. She's pretty sure that had been him anyway. Yikes. "D'you end up buying that painting?" She asks Gorehilt casually.
Leoxander gave 1 Kaleidoscope-Patterned Botanist’s Tome to Loravelle.
Leoxander glanced Lita's way, and... there was almost a sad realization that she was right. He didn't have many friends. But he looked back toward the book and the bar and... refilled his whiskey.
Loravelle wonders if her sisters wanted to do that bridesmaid thing. If she knew them as well as she thought, they'd probably all just want to dress up, drink a bit and turn the whole wedding into some sort of dancing party. ...Something hopefully she and Leo and anybody else could escape unnoticed if it got too noisy. “Maybe these two could join him,” she nods at Nort and Gore, “ and one of my nephews might want to.” But that little guy is well... a little guy. He's six and always ready to cause trouble, much like the pups, but it looks like Leo has them under control. She hears Noah's name and her brows raise confusedly at Leo. “Did you meet him?” His office was in Cenril, and Lora doesn't look worried. Just embarrassed. Whatever she told that psychiatrist was information Leo knew already or would know before she went and whined at Noah about her fears and whenever the time came, unpack all of her family issues. That wrapped but distinctly book-shaped object he sets on the counter has her attention then. She'll skip pouring another raspberry vodka while her eyes meet Leo's questioningly. For her? Last time she opened something in the Jolly Roger was a nightmare, but this looked...safe. And Leo wouldn't try pranking her in public, right? She feigns suspicion initially while peeling back wrapping, but the sight of that cover and the realization that it's a book has her quickly ripping away wrapping to get a better look. “I- Oh, my...” She steps back from bartender duties to lift the book and begin thumbing through its pages, grey eyes widening with each page turn with those informative pages and illustrations before her gaze lifts to look at Leo. Normally one to avoid any sort of public displays of affection, Lora quickly closes the tome and hurries out from behind the bar to throw herself at Leo, yanking him into a hug and tame kiss. “Thank you.”
Nortengaal finishes his glass and passes places it on the countertop, pushing it slightly towards Lora in a nonverbal indication of wanting another glass. Never one to pass up drinking, this one. Leo’s name drop was fairly lost on Nort, as he’s never heard it before, but he smirks all the same. When his glass is returned to him he takes a longish drink from it, savoring the unique burn of the whiskey. Brandy is often his drink of choice, but he can certainly appreciate other things too. Well, maybe not vodka so much - one too many bad nights with that particular drink. Leaning back a bit to speak around the slightly swaying Gorehilt he talks to the artist he’d met the other day in her shop, introducing himself proper. “I’m Nortengaal by the way, though most call me Nort or some other thing.”
Lita nods at Nortengaal's introduction. "Lita." She says, offering her own name in kind. "Nice to meet yah. Though I hate to learn what the 'some other things' are that people call you." She's teasing, mostly. The whiskey helps with this being social thing. They should definitely pack drinks for the next social event. "You're always welcome at the shop, Leo." She says, finally addressing the pirate's comments about joining her at the art stations. Seemed only right, since he'd been the only reason she'd gotten into tattoos in the first place. She'd asked him for a job once, come to think of it. That had been a lifetime ago now. Dark eyes flicker back to Nort once more. "You still lookin' to get some work done? Sorry we didn't get to chat much the other day. It was a little crazy."
Gorehilt dutifully toasts the happy couple, albeit at a notable delay. "Congratiations!" The shot vanishes between his tusks. He twitches, stiffens, shudders, swallows, shivers, and, finally, sighs. Well, that wasn't as bad as he thought. Not yet anyway. Leoxander's prophetic decision to secure him a roof and a bed is very wise, Gorehilt agrees, though he pretends not to have overheard. Better not to draw attention to one's own shortcomings. On cue, Lita asks about his mishap with the painting. "You saw that?" Of course she did. "Yeah," Gorehilt hides a burp behind his knuckles, "that was me. My painting now. I'll have to find somewhere to hang it." He laughs. "You know, when I have a house. Or a wall at least. I don't know where you'd get, you know, a standalone wall." Gorehilt makes a square in the air with his fingers. "Aren't they kind of a package deal? They go around something, or they box up a room, like," he looks around, "this one, uh..." Gradually, he realizes that Loravelle is opening a gift, and he's been sitting here rambling through it, and he trails off, grinning oafishly at the cheerful moment. "Yeah."
Leoxander went back to watching Lora as she revealed the book, and there was some relief in his blue eyes as the approval reflected in her grey gaze. He caught her in that hug of course, arms wrapping around the petite woman briefly. “Luck is all it was, Dove.” Truth in that, but he was happy that she felt the same. “I met him. He didn’t have a damn clue who I was.” Nothing wrong with that. In fact, he felt more of that relieved feeling that his bride to be wasn’t searching for answers of why Leo was the way he was. Doubtful that even Doctor Atwood would understand the way Lita, Mahri, and a few others did. His gaze traveled to the bearman as he introduced himself properly, and the rogue was at peace that somehow that mixed bag of persons were getting along. It reminded him of old times almost forgotten. “Tell me someone has a light.” The cigarette that had been between his lips on arriving was now behind his ear and plucked free once he let the bardess go, hair still drawn back from his face in that tie.
Loravelle wonders what's got Gorehilt so flustered. Or is he drunk? Maybe she's jumping to conclusions too quickly but her eyes leap from the half orc to Lita, then back again and his comment about getting a wall is too amusing to not grin at. Attention back on Leo, she starts to frown. “I wasn't seeing that doctor about you...” Though now, she wouldn't be surprised if Atwood brought up Leo since they had met. She'd dive into her anxieties and fears some other time, but the pirate knew more about those than most. They're all drinking and socializing and having a good time and she absolutely refused to bring the mood down. There had to be a pack of matches somewhere...After giving Leo a second kiss, this time on his cheek, she relocates to behind the bar again, refilling Nort's drink and anybody else's between tracking down a matchbox for Leo. Hopefully someone beats her to getting him a light so he isn't left hanging, because Lora also busies herself with rewrapping her new botanist book to move it out of everyone else's way. She looks longingly at the cover before putting it out of sight. It'll be a good read, she knows it.
Lita watches Gorehilt stumble a bit through his description of walls and she lofts a brow at him in amusement. She's not sure if he's a bit far gone or she is, 'cause that almost made sense. She glances down at her empty glass and nudges the bottle of whiskey a bit away from her across the bar. She slips from her seat and steals Leo's cigarette, still unlit. "I'm stealing this for the walk home." She drawls, leaning in to press a kiss against the pirate's cheek. She would have given Lora a hug too, but she's on the wrong side of the bar. So she just lifts her hand to wriggle her fingers in a wave, offering a friendly smile. She'd owe her one. "I'll get you the key to the shop in the next few days so you can bring your stuff by without bugging me." she teases Leo. She'd also need to put a lock on the room upstairs and have a talk with Cal, then. He probably wasn't gonna be happy about things but she'd deal with him. "Need you and Cal to have words at some point, too."
Nortengaal roots through a few of the pouches on his waist, searching for something the man can light his smoke with. After a moment, he extracts a box of matches from one of them and hands it over with a smile. “Here ya go mate. Keep em, i dont actually need them for anything.” Turning his attention back to Lita he nods. “Nice to meet ya proper. I am indeed still aimin to get some work done, though i havent quite figured out what i’m looking for just yet.” he waves the hand not holding his glass. “S’all right, i wasnt in any hurry anyways. Plus i got to see you in action, so i have a bit of an idea of what i can expect.” Gorehilt’s rambling gets an eyebrow raise from Nort, and he reaches out to touch him on the arm by way of getting his attention. “You doing alright there man?”
Leoxander let the smoke go. Lita deserved it. But he also had been deprived all day with all the children and customers. Maybe it was a sign. “See you, Ace.” He looked after her, grateful. The day had been good overall working (and building) her booth for the event. “An’ sure…” He was getting good at those. Words. Looking back for some other fix, he tilted back the shotglass he’d poured full of whiskey before he surveyed the others in the warehouse, noticing the box slid his way with a nod toward Nort’. “Cheers.” Not that he had anything to light without digging back into the satchel, but there were still some other items he didn’t wish to reveal, yet.
Gorehilt had drifted off into an absentminded reverie when a touch at his arm calls his distant attention back to the immediate present. The greenskin's eyes slide coolly down to Nortengaal's hand, then up to his face. "You doin' alright there," he reverses the question and raises a brow, "man?" With effort, he can keep Nortengaal's face from blurring or splitting double. To Gorehilt, it's an internal battle against his failing powers of vision, but to an onlooker, it would appear like he's staring the bearman down with undue adversarial attention. To his discredit, Gorehilt certainly looks and dresses like a violent person. Has he taken offense to Nort's friendly concern? A moment of tension builds between them; it awkwardly expands and threatens to fill the room.
Leoxander would be watching the two for a moment as he refilled his drink, settling on a stool at the end of the bar.
Loravelle successfully found a box of matches, but too late. That doesn't stop her from very proudly setting the box down on the counter. You know what she should be rewarded with for this? Another drink. This is only shot number two. She's fine. Happy doesn't begin to describe her mood, and seeing Lita get ready to head out has her mood diminish a little. Waving farewell all the same, she considers pouring shot number three, but not before checking on her fiance, Nort, and Gore just in case some or all of them needed their glasses topped off. Gorehilt's question to Nort has her looking a little worried. Looking to Leo for some guidance here, she figures...water might work and finds a glass to fill with some and attempt to stealthily swap with whatever glass Gore had near him, unless he has it in his hands. Hopefully Lora is actually helping here and not hindering, but she tries talking to Nort next to try lightening the mood. “S-so...” Socializing is something she fails at, even on days like this when she felt a little less shy than the norm. This isn't gonna work.
Lita heads for the door, leaving Lora to watch the kids for the evening. She'll apologize for that later.
Leoxander glanced at Loravelle, but the only advice he could give her was a shrug. He barely knew the orcen type, barely knew the bearman, but both seemed decent, overall. As much as many wanted to avoid those controversial moments, he understood that sometimes they could be therapeutic, too. How much he had wanted to clog Lanlan in the back of the head today would remain unknown to most. “You two handlin’ your cups or we need to take this outside?”
Gorehilt is, thank fate or the gods or whoever you want to credit, not holding his glass and much too drunk to notice Loravelle's miracle of turning whiskey to water with a little sleight of hand. A sober Gorehilt would have thanked her. Drunk Gorehilt is much better off oblivious.
Leoxander looked toward Loravelle, then Nortengaal, then Gorehilt. He stood, leaving that satchel on the counter. “I’ll get him somewhere safe.” He stood from his seat and put his cigarette down near the box of matches he’d been gifted to approach the half orc. “Let’s get you to Simon’s for now, eh, mate?” A glance at Nort’ who he was hoping he could trust, but if Lora’ went back to the ship for now he wouldn’t complain.
Leoxander always had Bill to keep an ear out, since he was missing some fingers and an eye to count for.
Nortengaal holds Gorehilt’s rather intense gaze with an easy one of his own, taking a drink from his glass. After a moment he shrugs and smiles, the tension sliding over him like water as he speaks. “Oh i’m doin just fine. Got a drink in my hand and friendly company, what more could a guy want?” Another drink is taken. “Just checkin to see how youre doin is all, ya seem a bit…off.” Nort pauses then shrugs again with a laugh. “Then again i’ve never met you before, so maybe youre just like this.”
Loravelle wonders if she should take Leo's satchel and put it somewhere safe, or pack her new book inside of it and gather up the pups, who at some point in the night wandered back up to the stage to sit by the drum kit. They look wary, but attentive, especially when Lora makes a sharp whistle to beckon the two pups to her. The party looked to be winding down, and she had a new book to read anyway. She feels bad for not sticking around to chat and drink some more, but mom duties call. Leo looks to be handling the situation anyway, so with his satchel over her shoulder (unless he stops her from taking it), she waves goodnight to both the werebear and half orc before heading out, Chee and Jee in tow. “We're heading home,” she announces before departing. Home meaning the ship.
Gorehilt blinks blearily at Leoxander. Something clicks. Gorehilt laughs, rubs his face into the crook of his elbow, and stands. Correction. Gorehilt attempts to stand, but the ground lurches beneath him, and he has to catch himself on the bar, knocking over his seat in the process. "You're right," he concedes, "you're right." With surprising alacrity, he snatches his glass of water, shoots it, and slides it across the bar to Lora, where it stops just short of her sleeve. "Yeah, I'm like this," he smirks, "when I'm drunk." With teetering steps, giggling at his own "joke", the orc follows his newfound friend like a puppy. A big, green, spiky puppy.
Leoxander helped the bar by catching Gorehilt with a glance with Loravelle and a nod. He’d make certain the tusked one found suitable lodgings and maybe some breakfast soup and hair-of-the-dog come morning. “It’s all good, mate. We’ll get you a bed to rest.” Really, who was he? Helping people left and right. And… why did it feel kind of good? Well, when it came to the orc, he didn’t feel too awkward about it. He was Loravelle’s friend, and maybe someday his own if he ever managed to acquire one. With that, he led the green-skinned male out of the shop, drawing spiked bracers away from his face or eyes as necessary.
Nortengaal laughs and raises his glass in a sort of toast to the green skinned man. “Fair enough my friend, that’ll certainly do it.” Draining the glass, he places it down on the counter next to the empty water glass and pushes up off the stool. It seems the night has wound down, time to make his exit behind the other folks and see what other sort of trouble he can get into while the night was still relatively young. With a nod, wave, and slight bow to everyone, he walks out into the crisp night air, whistling a jaunty tune as he pulls a yo-yo out of a pouch on his waist and starts idly playing with it.