| Drunken Truths |
| Summary: | A little alleyway beat down and some drunken truths come out. A very UGLY side of a Cassomir and a very COLD Lionheart… ((OOC: Matters of violence, angsty stuff, profanity - readers discretion is advised)) |
| Date: | 1865-11-04 |
| Related: | Click on the tags. |
| NPCs: | {$npc} |
| Players: |
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| Firen - Seedy Part of Town |
| Alleyways and streets late late late at night. |
| 1865-11-04 |
The night was dark and full of terrors! Or so says some stories about witches and fire breathing demons. Henric had gotten himself properly drunk at one of the seedier taverns in town while tossing stories about, some touching closer to home than ought to be safe - especially after some regrettable time spent in the company of a Romante set him off.
He was easily sent spiraling from any jovial frame of mind at a few 'boos' and other jabbed remarks. He might have been roughly forced from the tavern, not that it mattered. His tab was paid and there hadn't been a fight -inside- the tavern, though, that didn't mean he didn't PISS a few guys off with his lip that he gave.
Firen was a tight ship and Royal Lancers and city Guards were crawling everywhere. Someone could have sent word of the raised voices in the tavern.
In this city, Henric Cassomir was -THE- one and only disgraced Royal Lancer of recent times. People knew him if not from before, for his scandalous fall from honour now! Worse, people were starting to find out about his brother's botched betrothal. There had been rumors of him being in a tent with the Northern Princess and further rumors of why he was disgraced! People were putting wild strings of gossip together and thus, it was stupid to go on his own, but there he was, alone .. with one arm (since the other was in a sling), seeking out the seedier taverns of his youth, to be … Forrest again.
By the end of his night (or early morning), he was drunk - the booze confused his senses and dulled his wit to an impossible low. He had to stop against a building, his shoulder rolling into it as he realized with some slow thought that he had gone down an alleyway … and that he wasn't alone. The men he had words with had come out behind him. Henry had said a few things that they didn't like, enough that they were riled up and likely realized who he really was.
"Hey! Ye bastard! Speak now to our faces now, ye crow-bitten coward! Wez ain't done with ya yet boy!" Says one of the figures that had followed up the alley behind Henric.
"Reckon he's that Cassomir lord!" A second drunk scoffs, "Traitorous son of a crow!"
"Aye, lets be teachin 'em a lesson…!" a blade comes out from a third.
"Bet all of Galenthia be thankin us if we did-" says a fourth, "The Rose might even give us a reward!"
Oberyn had come see for himself. He'd wanted to see the drunk that was once his friend, the man he loved. He is wearing his full lancer gear as he moves behind the drunks and stands there watching them and Henric. He stiffens. "You will cease speaking such things and leave. This is your single and final warning before I remove you from the situation." He bellows out down the alley way. His second smile grinning along his neck is terrifying to see in the shadows. Oberyn looks colder now, as if that kindness, that beauty is gone. All that's left is a man, holding a sword in Lancer armor.
The commanding voice has a solid effect on at least one of the drunks that had followed out behind Lord Cassomir, as the man wisely decides to turn the other way and get his ass out of there.
Another drunk is already rushing at Henric, while a third looks caught in the cross hairs - deciding if he should pounce or wisely follow the first man.
The fourth man actually turns on the Royal Lancer with a dagger in his hand, "Keep on walkin Lancer… Let us handle his rancid tongue. EH?!"
The drunk with the cutlass blade is going for Henric along with the first man… some price to exact on the noble Lord no doubt.
Henric couldn't really keep focus on what was coming at him or more specifically who. Using his right shoulder to keep himself propped up on the wall as he could barely keep pace with the conversations going on around him. Then he instinctively reacted as a figure flew at him, catching the glint of metal in the corner of his eyes. The cutlass blade welding drunk nearly takes off his hand, having aimed for his chest but since his left arm was in a sling… his hand got in the way. But fingers stay intact! By the One! Still, the cut that opens up the top of his hand has him flinching, opening him up to be pounced on by the other drunk, who slammed him back so hard into the wall Henric could of sworn he heard a rib or two crack, letting out a raspy wheeze. In response, though dazed, the Cassomir fights the man off and sends him back a few feet with his single fist catching the guy in the gut. Anger and rage overwhelms his remaining senses and he swings wildly at the drunks coming to give him a beat down.
The nearest man spits at Henric, "Ye whoresonofabitch! Gutless honourless sack of crow's shit! Ye disgraceful little bastard, COME 'ERE!!" Though he's not done roughing up the Cassomir, trying to get a few more shots in before he's forced to flee as the Royal Lancer starts to act.
The drunk with the dagger going after Oberyn, staggers back after his blade did nothing - the blade just glanced off that full plate effortlessly.
The drunk man with the cutlass wants to really gut the Cassomir like a fish, but he hears the Royal Lancer approaching… even so, he's so damn angry drunk and offended that he wants to suffer the Cassomir a little.
Oberyn sees everyone attack and his eyes scan the group again and he could literally facepalm. He watches it for a round then rushes in angry. "Enough! Break this up this instant!" He calls out to the group of people. He raises his sword and moves towards the man with the cutlass. "Drop. Your. Blade."
The man with the cutlass blade gets a good righteous look at Oberyn and decides it ain't worth it! Also, being in prison is definitely a bad thing in Firen, with war brewing. The man slinks back and then beats a hasty retreat.
While the others distract the Royal Lancer from getting to the noble Lord, the drunk who had thrown Henric up against the wall is getting his fill of beating on the disgraced knight. The smack of knuckles against flesh and bone can be heard in unison with the grunts of pain and the struggle of two men scuffling. Henry tries to defend himself, but with the one arm in a sling, it was almost impossible to keep the other's punches from striking where they were aimed. He does try to escape the onslaught, but the guy has him by the collar and is repeatedly smashing his fist into his face…
At some point in the scuffle, Henric goes down in a heap with the drunk on top of him. The commoner still feeding the Cassomir cheap shots, as the Lord tries to feebly lift his hand to smush up against the other's face.. push him away… and then darkness consumed him…
The drunk with the dagger howls with shock at the broadsword of the Lancer streaking against his chest. He staggers back and retreats… Shit just got too serious! These drunkards are obviously not knights - strong hands perhaps, deck hands or black smiths, hard labourers at the very least…
A few words whispered into the right ears… that's all that it was to rile up the simpletons. A particular spin on the story of Henric Cassomir had been all that was needed. It was a scandal large and wide across the city, for hardly anyone had ever been dismissed from the Lancers and -never- a Cassomir.
Oberyn lifts a brow and glances at the group. "If you try again, you will be arrested." He speaks loudly. "Then put on trial for disorderly conduct and that if if you make it to the stocks." He speaks coldly. He walks over to Henric and kicks his lightly with his foot. "Wake up." He growls quietly.
The drunks seemingly realizing that they're not supported by the larger group that riled them up, deciding it was better to escape now than to be held to a trial. The one slaps the other on the chest to convince eachother to run and so they do. Not much more to it than that. They weren't armed and armored like Oberyn was.
Henric grunts at the kick, as he had been out cold by the vicious attack on his person. Face was swollen and bruised, there was blood from a cut lip or… cheek.. maybe a tooth was missing. It was hard to tell how much of a mess he was in the dim lighting of the alley. There's a soft groan. From Oberyn's perspective, he looks no better than a street urchin, clothes unkempt and mussed up.
There is no compassion on Oberyn face. He is far different. Annoyed with Henric even. "Get up. You are being arrested for being drunk in public and disorderly conduct." He sheaths his blade and crosses his arms over his chest waiting for Henric to stand up.
Henric pushes up on his elbow, but his head is swimming, so that is as far as he makes it. The tone he hears from someone, Oberyn….? "-Was going home…" he tries to stammer out, "-jumped…" and with a grunt he pushes himself up further, to lean back against the wall, squinting up at Oberyn, dragging a hand up to wipe his mouth, finding his sleeve coming away with a clot of blood.
Oberyn doesn't look down at Henric. "You caused a riot and you know the people's feelings for you. You got drunk and then you are part of a fight in the alley." He frowns again. "Get up, Sir Cassomir." There is little love there anymore. Their previous conversation obvious painfully clear in the mans mind. He doesn't move beyond his post there. The once warm man, cold and angry.
"You call… four men jumping on an… unarmed.. man with a broken arm… a riot?" he gives a wry chuckle that's crackling with pain as he groans again, feeling his busted up arm even worse than before. He still doesn't move from where he's sitting, trying to get the world to stop spinning. He hears the loveless tone and tries as he might to push himself up onto his feet, sliding up the wall and thankful that it was there, his hand gripping it to edge himself up onto his feet. His eyes blink hard as if to ensure it was Oberyn standing there and not a figment of his imagination. "You don't… have to do this…" his tone quiet, a croaked effort, "I was going home… but I have no home… do I?" He grimaces, "The manse… oh yes… I was going…there.."
Oberyn shakes his head. "A riot is a violent disturbance of the peace by a crowd. A crowd as you know is anyone over three." He shakes his head and stares now at Henric. "You are being pitiful. Get up." The alley is empty now and the Lancer puts his hands on his hips. "Don't have too but I should." There is more in his tone but he doesn't speak it. "The manse is your home and as I remember it so is Ironhold especially now the engagement is broken off. Perhaps you'd like a parchment and quill to write your dearest in Aequor?"
Henric wasn't in the rights to argue with Oberyn, especially over a definition of a crowd and a riot. He was swaying where he stood and had to keep his palm flat against the wall to hold himself up. "I can't fucking move alright… my limbs feel numb…" The added milk of the poppy must be the cause - dilated pupils will tell the tale. He's usually a lot more tolerant than he was this night of booze. His eyes blink a few more times as if to clear his vision, to better look at the Lancer with his hands on his hips. The sentiments about the engagement and his dearest has him grit his teeth and growl - albeit weakly - at Oberyn, "She… destroyed me… in an instant. Destroyed -me-…" his lips wither as he struggles to hold himself up, wobbling even when pressed against the wall, "I lost everything… and you…"
Oberyn frowns. "You've been drugged." He sighs. "I will walk you home but if I see you pulling this crap again, I will arrest you." He walks over and grabs the other man's arm. It's not gentle. There is no care. He starts to pull him out of the alley. "You knew the risks and took them despite everyone who told you to quit. Despite everyone's good advice, you spat on us all and said fuck you and went after her anyways. You destroyed yourself." He shakes his head and then stops turning to stare at the man. "You didn't lose me because of you. You lost me because of you." He growls back. "You gave it back. You basically spat in my face. You shattered my heart…crushed it in your hands. Then you send this letter about how you miss me, crushing me all over again. I won't have it. I'm tired of being strung around. I'm tired of being a puppet. I'm tired of being that thing you hide in your fucking closet. You lost me because you gave it back." He pulls him towards the opening to the alley.
It's all too much and it was getting worse. The swimming in his vision was heightening, the fringes of his vision turning black. Or maybe it was because he just got the living piss beaten out of him - but the poppy helped. Either way, he ONLY hears the matter of being arrested and clings to desperation as he's grabbed roughly, "No… No … it's all I have left. To die fighting… they'll take that too…" He says with a pathetically vulnerable tone, trying to put weight on his heels to stop himself from being hauled off. His eyes were welling with tears, from the pain, the fear, the desperation…reality… any numerous reasons as he strained against Oberyn, "I -did-… I -admit- it… I'm guilty. I'm a fool… I thought I knew, god, don't let them take my spurs… It's all I have… let me die with a blade through my heart, not like this…!" He pleads, thinking he's getting hauled away to the slammer, since the opium infused intoxication fucked up his perception. "I paid for my mistake with my cloak… with the hatred of my family… with … serving Tarris… please, just kill me instead…" He whimpers, feeling the jostle and being stopped as Oberyn stares at him. The words spin in his mind and he looks confused at Oberyn, saying rather innocently enough, "I do miss your companionship." He winces at the grip on his arm, as they move toward the mouth of the alley, whispering, "I… was… I made mistakes… lots…" he closes his eyes, stumbling along as he's pulled.
Oberyn doesn't look at Henric and he listens as he continues to move. "Yes you paid for it." He growls. He continues to move them out of the alley and down the empty walk towards Henric's manse. "You do not miss me. You don't love anyone. You said so yourself. The only one you loved was her. I gave you multiple opportunities to tell me otherwise, I even begged you but you spat in my face and walked away. You gave all my love back but that day I dropped it." He turns far colder. "Love doesn't exist, Lord Sir Cassomir. There is only pain. We live our lives and then we die. For you nobles, you get to sit in your towers and make plans and have babies and carry on legacies. For us common people, we get pissed on and left for trash. I will die with nothing. No legacy. No lands. No great love. No heroic stories. I am nothing and I will die as such. Burnt and forgotten. That is what I look forward too. Nothing." He drags Henric further. "So keep complaining about your giant house and lands. Your chances to be happy. Your ability to move on. I do so enjoy hearing about the nobles and their troubles."
The lack of empathy. The lack of sympathy. Henric knew, even with his vision swimming on him, that he had burnt the bridges down between the two of them. The firm grip Oberyn has on him is enough to keep the younger of the two walking, albiet painfully all things considered. "I said… I said…" he starts to try and mutter a response, a way to debate what he said, "Shielding myself, to do what was right…!" He doesn't contest much more than that, since Oberyn is then going into how love doesn't exist. He comes along more obediently now, after the other man goes on about life having nothing but pain ahead for them, and how being a common man will leave nothing behind but memories of those who knew him. "Do you want them?" asked about the giant house and lands, shaking his head, "I don't know what happiness is anymore… I'm sorry Obe…"
Oberyn shakes his head as they move along the streets. "Of course you don't know what happiness is. You have a family. You have lands. You have potential. You have a future. You have hope. What is there to be happy about? You are clearly hopeless." He states sarcastically. He stops and stares at the youth. "You keep saying you are sorry but I don't think you are. I don't think you even care." He pulls the youth again and shakes his head as he moves down the stone paths. "I would have given anything to be yours and you would have given anything to hide me away. Now you don't have too. Now there is nothing left there." He speaks quietly. "There is nothing left to be sorry for."
"A family that fails to trust me…! Lands that mean LITTLE to me now that I don't serve as a Lancer… Lands that what… what… are a constant reminder of how I tried to be a good man and in the end it didn't fucking matter, that I still fucked it up? A house that reminds me that I've been disgraced? " He grabs Oberyn with his good arm, reaching for the man's collar, to step in front of him, wobbly as he is on his legs, he can manage this. He's a dodgy fellow after all. "I -had- potential. I -have- none now. I'm fit to die on the front lines, that's all the fucking potential I have! I'm only useful to Duke Tarris for my skills - that is all." His head tilts, "I wanted to save you that… save you and everyone else from that! From me…! I gave up… I admit it!" His fingers bunch up in Oberyn's Royal Lancer's cloak, "God damn you, but don't tell me I don't care! -Distance- … it is a shield." He weakly shoves at Oberyn, "You have potential. You have a future. Do something god damn noble and you'll be given a fiefdom… you'll be sought after and welcomed…" He shakes his head, "God damn it all Oberyn! I'm fucking sorry I couldn't live to your ideals! I'm not a storybook Cassomir! I'm not my brothers!" He twists himself out of the man's grip, stumbling back pathetically.
Oberyn sighs quietly. "All that you brought on yourself because you didn't follow the good advise of your family and friends." He feels the man come closer to him and he watches him, eyes locked on eyes. Oberyn doesn't move at the shove and his eyes narrow. "I have done noble things, Lord Sir Cassomir. I get pats on the shoulder. Nothing more." He shakes his head. "I am a commoner. They do not give fiefdom to commoners. I will not be sought after or welcomed. I am a Royal Lancer. That is all. I protect the royal family and one day I will die for them. That is all." He shakes his head. "That is all I am." He winces and growls. "I never wanted you to live up to them! I saw you for you, you damned idiot!" He snaps. "I saw you for the good and the bad! Everything! I wanted to make you happy! I loved you and I would have died for you. He shakes his head. "As a common born I'm a damn toy to you. That's all I am. You just play around with my feelings and my heart. You don't care that my love for you is burning me alive and you never will! You'll find a piece of tail on a nice courtesan or a noble lady and chase that while I stand guard and watch." He shakes his head. "You need to get back to your house. I will fetch you a healer." He growls.
Henric feels his rage boiling underneath the surface of his skin, his cheeks and neck turning red at the most obvious thing. "Rub by nose in it some more…!" his tone drops from the pathetic tone to something that smolders and sparks with fire, the same fire that Raymund accused him of having. He'll own it though. It was who he was. "Yes… they…Hedge knights in Ironhold, they can hold land. A lordship was born from a hedge knight who proved his worth." This fact. But he doesn't linger on it. Instead, his accusation stings, "You wanted me to be something I could never be… admit it, you held me upon a pedastal with everyone else…" His -one- fist bunches up. "Fuck you Oberyn! Don't tell me how to feel! You don't know shit about me! You loved to sleep with me and that's about it, wasn't it? Wasn't it?!" He launches himself at Oberyn…Oh how the tables turn!
Oberyn listens to the accusations and he tenses up. "I love you… Loved you." He shakes his head. He winces again and takes a step back. "Loved to sleep with you? The one time we had sex? That's what you thought? The one time?" He stands there and lifts his chin. "Then go on and beat me, Lord Sir Henric. For I am a coward and a scoundrel." He lets his arms drop to his sides.
Yes well, for what it is worth, Henric's attempt at swinging… ends up in a miss anyways and with him tripping over himself an sprawled on the ground. It wasn't a pretty sight. Oberyn didn't have to move an inch. Quite hilarious if Henric didn't start crawling on the ground and grabbing onto Oberyn's pant leg. He's really hit rock bottom. "You were my…" his voice cracks before he can say it and he puts his forehead against the man's thigh, "I'm the coward…" Distance was a shield. Distance was what kept him safe. He eventually just sits back on his knees, head bowed as if looking ready to be executed on the spot. His pale green watery eyes look up toward Oberyn, "I'm sorry I hurt you…"
Oberyn sighs quietly and shakes his head. He reaches down and lifts Henric up. He shakes his head as he sees the tears. He stares at the man. "Stop crying. I'm trying to take you home." He pulls Henric's arm over his shoulders and brings his arm by his ribs. He helps him more gently now towards his Manse. He doesn't speak though as he's holding in his own feelings. His heart is pounding in his chest and he's holding back his own tears.
Henric leaned a little on Oberyn as he was lifted up, his eyes kept down and away from Oberyn. "I can't change what I've done…" he whispers, dejectedly. He doesn't fight Oberyn now, all fight drained out of him, as he's told to stop crying.