Information

[Stefn Peruso]

OOC: This takes place during the same day Stefn went to see Áine at Jonas’ place.

It was well after sundown when Stefn had let himself be dragged to the Leaky Tankard and it was well after sundown and after more than a dozen drinks that he stumbled back to the Barracks, along with some of his newly-acquainted friends. They thought him a bit of a spoil, but he was funny in his own severely-depressing way. They didn’t know what the hell he was ranting about – something about love that was lost if not imparted (whatever imparted meant) and other curious things of the sort. The Corporal might have been fun and very generous with those drink, but he sure talked funny.

He made his way through the large doors and then stumbled down a long corridor. The world was spinning, and spinning, and spinning… it was unbelievable!! Like the first time he rode a horse, all those years ago. He’d grabbed the reins only gingerly and as soon as his mother’s palm slammed itself against the horse’s back, he’d lost them. The effect was so humorous even Sandra Peruso found it in her heart to smirk a bit, despite her sheer disappointment and outrage at her son’s failure to complying with her demands. He’d fallen back, flipped in the air, his legs cutting it like teeth of a rake, and then landed on his belly, face-down in the dirt. Stefn opened the door with a huge smile on his face, remembering that silly little day his mother had begun teaching him to handle a horse. It had been in Reza. It had been the day he’d first met Áine Líadáin.

His heart fell again. That week had been horrible. The week before, equally nauseating. Everything was nauseating at that point. Or… was it just the alcohol? Or was alcohol heartbreaking? Yeah, yeah… that’s right. No. Wait. He stopped – or thought he did, because his body was still swaying on the spot, despite his holding himself in place with the hand on the door frame – and, blinking a few times, tried to clear his head. Instead, thoughts and images came swirling around before his eyes. Áine, a bloody heap he identified as a suicide Kalenian, Áine again, his mother’s expression the first time he returned drunk and then Áine again. No one understood him. Life was bleak and if there had been someone around him, he would have told them just how bleak.

The Corporal frowned slightly. The room seemed a bit different, but he couldn’t really identify the said discrepancy. He shrugged it off, deciding that the dizziness he felt was more important than a fleeting feeling of confusion. Without bothering to take anything off, he stepped forward, dropped in the bed, over the covers and over a sleeping heap. If he’d been sober, he would have noticed that it was indeed not his room, and the person he’d practically fallen over was not only his superior, but a woman.

[Eveahne deSeale]

Finally some time to breathe... Eveahne had been assigning training missions for the many groups within her regiment ever since returning to her office, three hours ago. Before that, she had endured another day of training her recruits by means of a training method even she felt was harsh. There was war around the corner and there was no time to slack off. She almost felt sorry for her subjects. At least the more seasoned scouts had now joined them during their training to give them a helping hand. Things were moving rapidly, and even Rogere was improving his abilities, if not his sharp tongue. She could feel her entire body aching, and the fading light of the candle on her desk was making it hard to even read what she was writing.

She stopped her writing and turned her eye upon the dying flame, melting away the last inch of wax that was still clinging onto the bronze candlestick. Her eyes were sore and her neck stiff, not to talk about her wrist. She yearned for the bed, yes, she could even hear it calling out to her. Reaching out her hand she grabbed the handle of the candlestick and stood up. Her office was in the captain's quarters. Every captain had one office with a joined bedroom, for convenience and as a occupational bonus. She moved over to the door and walked into her bedroom. It was far past the logical time to sleep for any soldier, and these days there was no day off for her. Even if she was a captain. She was busy training recruits. War had a way of diminishing your time off. It was a bit frustrating, really, because at this time she was more worried than ever about the outcome of this war. With nowhere to gamble, how would she be able to prepare herself? How would she be able to use her knowledge to the best of Myridia now? Of course, it wasn't like she could go to Zane and say this. He would brand her as a gambling-addict and a madwoman. Others had done so before. Yet, she still clinged to her most precious posession; a silver coin. She tossed it into the air and called out "Heads..." and caught the coin in her hand.

She hesitated for a moment. Did she really want to see what was lying inside her hand? Hadn't she won almost every day these last couple of weeks? She already knew that it would be a heads, because there was something ominous looming in the air itself these days... She let her eye slowly crawl towards her hand, and sighed. Heads... Another day of bad luck. She didn't even bother to think about what tomorrow would bring her. She set the candle down on a table beside her bed. It was a simple bed, exactly the same model as that of soldiers of lower ranks, but the sheets were of greater quality and the pillows were softer. Perks of being a captain. She got undressed, folding her clothes neatly and placing them in front of her dresser, ready for the morning. She lay down in her bed and pulled the covers over herself, and blew the lights out.

She fell asleep almost instantly. She didn't dream. Well, she didn't dream much, was a more proper statement, because the second the dream was beginning (something about a boat, a horse and a Zane Sangre in Asharian uniform) she woke up to someone mumbling something next to her. Then the smell reached her dazed nose; alcohol. What was this? She turned around in her bed, and there, an inch from her face, was the face of some man. She shrieked before she could stop herself, adrenaline getting to her, and rolled out of bed, grabbing her sword on the way down. She stood up, the light of the moon shining onto her from the window and she stared at the man with her blade held straight towards the jumbled mess of a man in front of her. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Speak, or the guards will be identifying your corpse in the morning!" she demanded, heart still racing and mind a jumbled mess. What in the names of the entire pantheon of gods had this man intended to do with her in her sleep?

[Stefn Peruso]

Stefn heard the shriek, but it was such a loud and high-pitched noise he didn’t register it for what it was. In fact, he dazedly pulled his head from the pillow and looked around. The light of the moon coming through the window reflected on a sword and on the ivory skin of a woman with raven hair. She seemed to shine in the moonlight, though her voice was harsh and threatening. Was she going to punish him for his sins? “Are you…” he slurred the words out, his mouth half-buried in the pillow, though his dark eyes were wide and awe-struck. “Are you an’ngel?” A white dress wrapped around her full curves, hanging loosely from her firm breasts and gently hugging the curve of her hip. He raised his eyes again to look beyond those shoulders, showered by light and delicate, only to spot no wings.

No wings? What kind of angel was that?

“Whaait… no no waait,” he said, sticking out an arm slowly from under the pillow. “No no. Angels… Angels have wings. You don’t. You’re just a woman.” Ah. Just a woman. A beautiful woman at that. He glanced at her body again, his eyes then following the shape of her arms to the sword she was firmly pointing at him. A woman. Wait-wait.

“You’re not Áine eitha. You’re not Áine,” he told her, but mostly trying to reassure himself as his eyes kept wondering. His head drooped into the pillow again until only one of his eyes was visible. No, the woman definitely was not Áine. Áine was quite skinny. Little breasts, little bottom… nothing really in between. But gorgeous brown-red hair. Dazzling green eyes. Maybe the light was playing tricks on him. Maybe she was Áine and he didn’t know it. He suddenly made the effort to push half his body up. It took a while, he kept missing the bed with one hand and it continued to slip on the side. And slip, and slip… “There we go!” he happily announced, when he finally managed to prop himself up and sit up on the bed.

“Great, the room’s spinning again,” he added. Indeed it was. “How’my s’posed t’see—if th’room’s spinning?” A logical question, wasn’t it? If the room was playing rock-a-bye-baby, he couldn’t see the woman’s face all that clearly and he definitely couldn’t get a good look of her eyes. He could tell Áine’s eyes from anyone’s, even if that’s all he could see. “I c’n tell…. If… if yer not Áine.” A very assured nod followed which didn’t do him a whole lot of good since he felt even dizzier. But he had great ambitions, too! He suddenly pushed himself up, stumbled forward, managing to push the sword out of the way and land his elbows on the woman’s shoulders while the weight of his head was supported by his nose. On her nose.

“Blue,” he knowledgeably remarked. His smile fell. Blue. Not green.

Not Áine.

[Eveahne deSeale]

Áine? That name rang a bell. This man was looking for a woman named Áine. He was a drunken buffoon who was now eyeing her up and down, and she felt a tug of self-consciousness as he studied her body. "Get out of my bed, you buffoon!" she stiffly said, not wavering her blade nor shivering in the cold night air. He wasn't responding to her too well, it would seem. He instead began calling her an angel. A valid compliment, even from a drunkard and a fool, but still not enough to defuse the situation. She could see him a bit more clearly now, as her mind calmed down and the moon played off his face. He was a handsome man, if a bit disoriented, and he had a unique smile... A smile she had seen before... "Peruso?"

Corporal Stefn Peruso, she remembered him. The grandson of the former Brigadier-General, the rank-jumping silver-arsed kiss-up of a slacker who went from private to corporal before he even signed up for the military. She remembered Tanel lamenting on about the gutless idiot and his eloquent ways of saying "I don't wanna, you can't make me". Tanel had been nice with him, it would seem, because now he was here, drunk, in her bed, just before the start of a war. Why did she have to toss that coin tonight? Wait... What did he call her? Just a woman? Just a woman? She wasn't just a woman, she was Eveahne deSeale. One of the toughest captains the Myridian military had to offer. Recruits were diminished to tears and quit the military because of her. She could stand her own in both swordmanship and archery, and was a damn good horseback rider. She was eloquent in both Myridian and Asharian, and was able to tell a good wine from a exquisite one.

"Excuse me, corporal. You are talking to your superior. I am Captain Eveahne deSeale, and you are in my quarters. If you do not get out of my bed and out of my room this instant, I will make sure that if you do not die from this war then you will die of exhaustion as I personally drill you every day of the rest of your life. I am not as forgiving as Tanel." she said. Her words seemed to have effect, as the man stumbled out of her bed in a very awkward fashion but as he got up he didn't seem inclined to leave the room, and instead made way for her. "Stand down, corporal!" she said as he somehow dodged her blade and placed his elbows on top of her shoulders, resting his nose on top of her nose.

"Blue." he was able to say before she reacted. Before she could even think, Stefn Peruso was on the ground, his face pressed into the wooden floor as she locked his arms behind his back. She was sitting on top of him, holding him down. Shock? She was shocked at his behaviour? She hadn't been taken this off guard since she was drinking at her house with Zane Sangre, and it was uncomfortable. She twisted his arms until she knew it would hurt a lot, and held them there for a while. "Now, corporal, if you do not sober up this instant. I will be forced to not only take you into the arrest, but also recommend that you be held there until the war reaches the city walls. As it stands now, you are a danger to yourself and your comrades, and I will have nothing of that." she said through gritted teeth. No matter what, at this point, she was going to wake this man up first thing in the morning and take him with her on her morning run. And he would carry a backpack weighing at least eighty pounds.

"Now, once more. Explain why you're here, or I'll make you pay."

[Stefn Peruso]

Superior… Captain… Eveahne, such a nice name. Quarters. Whose quarters again? What if it was Áine and he’d somehow landed in the Mage Sector. With Jonas downstairs. Yeah, that’s it… he’d gone up some stairs just now, hadn’t he? Bed. Room. Die. Zefir died. Stefn’s smile disappeared completely. Why had he been so stupid? How could he have betrayed his-Tanel. Oh, Luna! Tanel!! Bloody hell that woman had been almost as bad as his mother. And seeing as no one, no one, was worse than Sandra Peruso when it came to ways of inflicting torture upon disobedient teens, that said something. He was now grimacing and he kept grimacing as he somehow landed on the ground. The slam shook him horribly and though he was too numb to feel the pain, his brain seemed to rattle anyhow.

And the world was spinning again! Wheee!!

He was supposed to sober up? He could do that. Stefn had only had a few pints. What was a few pints anyhow? A few silvers… Maybe one gold, seeing as he treated the whole Tavern a few times too. Ah, the hell with it, what did money matter when they were going to be dead anyway after or as a result of this bloody war? Explain. Pay. Did she want money? No, Áine didn’t want money. And that wasn’t Áine. No green eyes, remember Peruso? No green eyes.

No green eyes.

Blue.

Nice blue though.

“I’m sssorry,” he said, his face stuck to the floor, his cheek plastered to the wood so that his mouth was impossible to close completely. That grimy bit of floor had the distinct taste of walnuts. Huh. Who’d ever think of doing that? Huh. “I wiff I knew where I am, but… I don’t!” he declared surprising himself with the last bit. His mind was by far clear, but some of his senses seemed to return to him. Maybe it was the fact that his body was forced in an uncomfortable position and he didn’t like it. “Are you Kalenian? Pleaff don’t kill yourself. I don’t like it when people kill themselves for nothing.” The Corporal tried raising his head and found that he could do that, if only a bit. His chin was now resting on the floor and he was free from speech impediments – physical ones, at least. “Reza is nice, but now it’s full of Kalenians. And then I got blood on my face.” He laughed, as much as one could laugh when one was held on the floor with his hands held on his back. “Acalon almost peed himself!”

[Eveahne deSeale]

Peruso was drunk. Very drunk. The levels of intoxication within his mind seemed to rise with every sentence he uttered. The man was as lost as a puppy at the mage's assembly. She almost pitied him. Almost. She sighed, and released her grip on the man. She pulled his torso up and leant his back against the wall before standing up and walking over to a small desk in the corner of the room. She grabbed one of the bottles standing there and poured it's clear contents into a glass. The man had to detox, and the simplest way to do this, was water.

She moved over to the man, sat down next to him and handing him the glass of water. "Here, fine Arayullian white wine. Seven years old." she said with a smile. Of course, it wasn't really wine, but in her experience, men drank whatever if you convinced them it contained alcohol, and even more of it if they were already intoxicated. Men were simple beings. Simple beings that had one purpose... To use their big, strong arms to hold women tight as they pushed harder and harder and... It was really a long time since the last time she had gotten any from anyone. She had almost been able to nail Zane, but then the bloody man panicked and found himself another woman. Men.

But, of course, not all men were bad. And even the bad ones had their purpose. Especially when it came to... Now wait just a second! She was helping a man sobering up. Even if he was a lazy git who got anything on a silver platter, he was also her subordinate and she had a duty to help him. But, of course, rank wasn't that big of a deal, was it? You could have fun with someone below your own rank, and it wouldn't be a big deal, right? She started looking Stefn up and down, noting his muscles and his rather handsome face. He was an attractive man, and he was drunk. Two points in her favour.

It really had been such a long time that itch had been scratched... Perhaps it was time?

[Stefn Peruso]

The memory of Reza both repulsed and amused him. If he’d been sober, the hilarity of it all would be lost on him, but right now… right now he saw things clearer than he did when he wasn’t under the influence on alcohol – or so he liked to think. And the idea of more alcohol pumping through his veins and making him forget about the lousy life he lived was very very tempting. Actually, it was irresistible. Stefn pushed himself up and rested his back against the bed. He then grabbed the glass and downed it quickly. It didn’t have the time to leave any taste in his mouth so he couldn’t have told wine from water. “Arayullian wine…” he mused, distractedly. “Haven’t had tha’ in aaaaaaages.”

He looked at her again, a grateful smile on his lips. “Cheers,” he said, happily. It was all very strange. Normally, he wasn’t a happy drunk. Normally… he remembered the things which made his life horrible and they all seemed to be magnified under the lens of alcohol. They all seemed bigger and more threatening.

“So… what’s a beautiful woman like you doing… doing in a dark place like this?” he asked. His mind was oddly clear, but also confused at the same time. The words formed themselves but with slight pauses and hesitations as his tongue found it hard to comply to the instructions his drunken brain gave it. But he’d managed it anyway, without actually spoiling the punchline. He found her beautiful. She was indeed quite attractive, and even more so in the state he was. Stefn had always had his way with women, so there was no question about him being shy. If anything, he was hardly ever shy. His smiled turned charming – or something around that note. Beautiful woman… Eveahne, Eveahne she said. She’d also mentioned something else but he’d forgotten. It wasn’t important anyway.

[Eveahne deSeale]

Eveahne faked a giggle at his remark. She wasn't entirely sure what reason she had for doing it, but she was trying to seduce a drunk subordinate. It wasn't as if she would get reprimanded for it. Within the military, you could really do it with whomever you wanted. Well, you couldn't in theory, but in practice was a completely different thing. He was a good looking man, and she was a (she had to say) rather attractive woman herself. There was a war on the horizon, so who was to say that you couldn't seek comfort in the strong, warm arms of another soldier? No one. No one Eveahne cared about anyway. That stupid Sangre could shove a sock in it for all she cared.

Eveahne grabbed hold of Stefn's arm and lifted him up. "The bed is much softer than the floor, don't you think?" she said innocently as she lead him around the bed and almost threw him onto it. She then moved seductively across the bed, making sure her cleavage, which was fighting hard to contain itself within the thin material of her night gown, was in clear view to the man lying on her bed. Playing all cards, as it were. "And a... Beautiful woman such as myself would ask what a... Handsome man like yourself was doing in her bed." she paused and moved so close to him she could feel his breath against her chest, "or rather, what he would be doing..."

It really had been a long time...