• PM To Join • One Night at the Crest Break

[Han Hetra]

At this point, the words had become meaningless groans and slurs. Han couldn’t even pretend like he was capable of communication at this point, meanwhile poor Jon was still pushing noise out of his face hole, to little effect. Han was now a man possessed by a singleminded drive- to pay the tab. It was the only thing that mattered now. The only thing that served to shake his steely resolve was Jon running his fingers through his beard. Everything in Han was set on edge. ’This is NOT the kind of drunken encounter I wanted!!’ He screamed internally, but to little outer effect. “Pleshha… Don...t.” He barely managed to smoosh the words out of his mouth, the effort draining so much of his concentration that he nearly collapsed while not explicitly willing his legs to stand him up. This was bad. He had hoped Jon would have given up or lost long before they got here. While Han knew he wasn’t a man of particularly great stamina in the face of drink, he never saw himself getting this drunk.

Finally reaching the bar again, and getting Jon into a stool, Han triumphantly smacked down ten gold nels onto the counter, some of them scattering slightly at the impact while he scrambled to keep them in one neat pile. The bartender gave Han a smile and a nod at the gesture, and Han finally knew he was free again to do…. Whatever it was this Jon guy wanted to do. Well, not THAT. He shuddered again at the thought of him touching his beard. ’What is it with these mages? First that musclebound guy in the forest, now this? Are all mages gay?’

Han managed to decipher, or so he thought, that Jon was talking about helping people, and it had something to do with magic. “Buddy…. I don thik wer in a posishn to help ANYbody…” Han forced the words out, before resting his head in his crossed arms on the bar.

[Jonathan Burr]

Jon was really afraid of passing out at this point. Everything was covered in a thin sheen of liquor. He snickered at Han's drunken protest to his beard-touching. He really did like the texture of it. He had a mustache himself but he always appreciated a lovely thick beard on a man. He honestly wouldn't have minded sleeping with him. He was loyal to Alistair but, this was liquor and liquor had a mind of its own. He squinted at his new companion, trying to keep all three Hans from wavering around one another. He was...kind of sitting on the barstool. He had a feeling if he experimented with leaning back too much he'd fall right into someone. Instead he resolved to half-flop over the bar, clinging to the wood for dear life while his new friend paid the tab. Thank gods, that was one stress off of his mind. He giggled and played with the nel, making one of the gold coins roll around on the bar.

Uh oh. He saw that magnificent beard settle on the bar and it looked like Han was well and truly on his way to passing out. "Mmmno!" Jon was struck with a sudden want to keep his friend from doing exactly that. "Mmhm, I'm help people. I can help lossa people." he patted Han's head. "C'man. Up and attem." He slipped off the stool again, doing his best to stand. His legs really seemed less like structures of meat and bone and more like overcooked pasta at this point. Absolutely useless. "Can't pass out here." he mumbled at Han, shaking him a bit. "Robbled."

That wasn't a word.

"Robbwed. Rowbled. Robbed." he had to smack his tongue into obeying. "Horse. C'mon. Horse knows way home." he tried to haul Han upright again and pulled the man's arm over his shoulders. He had to get to the horse. His mare knew how to get back to Kaelserad. In fact she rather enjoyed lolling around in the meadows free of work. She disliked being tied up outside of a bar. "Just...just outside. Cman." he was doing his best to get them both out the door and onto the curious horse outside before a pickpocket took advantage of the situation. He knew; he'd taken advantage of many a drunk when he was scrounging money for drugs.

[Han Hetra]

“Robbled.... Yeah.”It was all coming crashing down. Forget robbed. They were gonna die out here. Jon tried vainly to help Han to his horse, but it was the drunk leading the drunk. First they faced an obstacle that threatened to be their undoing: The door. There were several steps that would need to be undertaken in tandem for success to be achieved here. First, they would have to find the door. Next, they would have to simultaneously grasp the handle and apply pressure. There were at least half a dozen points in this plan where shit could hit the proverbial fan, but they knew the risks when they showed up to the Crestbreak. It was do or die now, and only with a combination of teamwork, intelligence, and sheer luck could they hope to succeed. Some would have called it a suicide mission. Mentally, Han assigned a name: Anti-Theft Plan D. Anti-Theft because they needed to not get robbled. Plan because it was a plan. D because it was a good enough letter and nobody liked a C.

Mustering all of his nigh on nonexistent powers of detection, Han peered around the room for the door with all the grace of an elephant seal swiveling its entire girth to and fro. But, looking like an idiot or no, he found success. No more than fifteen feet ahead of them, the door. But between here and there was a gauntlet so perverse and fearsome, the boldest of men would tremble. Luckily for Han, he wasn’t that bold. Two intertwined couples stood before them, somewhere between dancing and heavy petting. They were a problem. “We're gonna need to improvise.” Han said. At least, that’s what he thought he said. What came out was more akin to a series of grunts and whistles that belonged to a sub tropical tribe. It follows, of course, that the next step of his plan- asking them to move- bore similar results. Leveraging his tenuous connection to the ground beneath him, Han dug into Jon’s shoulder and swiveled, tossing his inebriated friend forward, narrowly missing the couples as they stepped aside, cursing at them. Jon, however, refused to let go and pulled Han with him. Tumbling forward now past Jon’s prone figure, Han hit the door at full force- or he would have, if it had been closed. Upon closer inspection, it turned out that the door had been propped open the whole time- Han was looking at the wall next to it. Of course, now he was looking at the dirt that his face was planted in.

“Jooooooooooon.”

[Jonathan Burr]

Han's swiveling made him dizzy. For some reason he kept thinking the man's head simply wouldn't stop rotating and he'd end up looking like a top or an owl. It was a rather sickening thought and he avoided looking at Han for a few moments. They needed to get out of the bar, that much was clear, and it seemed he'd finally broke through Han's resistances to his entire idea of leaving the building. Finally, he had a companion on board with his mission, and the objective was a difficult one. The door was barred by dancing and celebrating men on their own destructive path to Jon and Han's condition. Moving would be hazardous. The floor was not a friend at this point despite looking comfortable and appealingly cool. The door looked like a fortress. How did anyone possibly operate such a complex machine?

Han was making noises at him. Jon nodded in agreement, feeling like his skull was moving far too fast for his face to catch up. Yes. No one wanted to get robbled tonight and they were inebriated ducks in a sea of dancing wolves. He needed Han to move forward with him. Together they would slog forth through the mire of alcohol and merriment to the blessed door. Instead, Han had the idea of using him more as a catapult. Jon had never given serious thought to being used as a projectile before but as he stumbled forward and the floor rushed him into its cold wooden arms it occurred to him that he didn't much like it. Han was excelling at the prospect, lurching through the door and managing to get a fair bit of distance on Jon before his short career as a human bolt ended just as quickly.

Jon's name drooled forth from the sadly soiled beard and Jon answered the call valiantly. That was to say, he pulled all four of his limbs underneath his body and shuffled forward. A forest of stamping legs and dropped drinks confronted him, and he stepped over and around the obstacles as neatly as a fawn through a forest. If a fawn had feet the size of bears and was insistent on making people crash down to its level. Jon's path to the door was clear and he reached his downed friend. He pushed at Han. "Geeemrpup." he burbled, a belch making the pair of words supremely difficult to pronounce.

Someone had to be the vertical one here. He grabbed at the door handle and hauled himself up onto his knees. Dear god, it was high up here. He grabbed Han's hand with the spare one flopping around at his side and gathered his feet under him. By spreading his legs and bending his knees he looked like an overgrown and frighteningly hairless penguin, but he was fine with that. Now, he had one of Han's arms vertical. He had to get the rest of him up. Somehow. He demanded his eyes into focus for a few seconds and saw a long face staring at them curiously. Ah. His horse. The mare was a few feet from the door, staring at her inebriated master with a mixture of minor concern and apathy.

"Hi." he bellowed at her.

Therein lay their salvation. Something with a pair of working legs for each of them. He stumbled forward, grappling onto the building to prop himself up. Han was a lead weight behind him, a ball and chain Jon was determined to drag toward the shapely mode of transportation. He swung his hand at her and managed to seize her reins. Now, with one arm holding a semi-unconscious beard and the other holding a displeased thousand-pound animal, he somehow needed to make one out of them. This was the worst kind of Transmutation. He let go of the horse and grabbed Han again, pulling him closer and kneeling. He put Han's arm around his neck, seized the man's belt, and stood up. It was a herculean task and he shouldn't have been so surprised he got the angle wrong. Again, he was a projectile and this time he managed to bang his new friend's head into the rear end of his animal.

The horse snorted in surprise and swung her head on her giraffe-like neck to stare at them. Jon patted her. "Sorr." He didn't manage to tag the y on there, but he hoped she got the point anyway.