"For some reason I thought you'd have good taste in alcohol," Izzy muses aloud, tipping his head to the side slightly and taking a breath and exxhale.
Oh fuck, he hadn't felt it at first but he is.. wow, yeah he is drunk.
"Or do you lot in the midlands just lick lamps and that."
It is meant to be banter, but you never know. They're both Mean (gay trait tm) so it could go either way and he is feeling a hell of a lost looser with himself than he has since he arrived.
"Because now I have to have one and I'm going to very willingly pin it on you for everyone."
Lucius gasps at the accusation, his hand reaching up to press against his sternum. He is offended, good sir, that you would accuse him of having piss poor taste in alcohol when they've just finished draining a bead decorated skull of tequila in the wee hours of the morning. Though, frankly, he had licked a lamp post as a child and that's the most recent memory he has of the midlands.
Fortunately, before he can deliver a sassy riposte, Izzy is on to the threats and Lucius just groans. It's melodramatic, involves letting his head loll back, and he throws up his arms as he does.
"Of course you would--fine, just--no--you know what?" Lucius says and snaps back upright, gesturing at Izzy with his missing index finger. "I'm going to go make another drink and call it the Izzy."
Izzy rolls forward to lean his forearms on his spread thighs. Oh yes.
"You're not weaponizing cocktails, I'm not fucking having it, Spriggs."
In actually fact, Izzy doesn't give a single fuck about cocktails, and barely knows what one is except a waste of nice spirit, but if that is the way this is going, he is not going to let this little tart slander him with god fucking awful drinks.
Izzy's brows pin high on his forehead. There are a few ways to play this but none of them feel particularly good and he can't think too hard without his brain threatening to beat itself against the inside of his skull.
Right now Izzy's brain is also thinking about beating Lucius with a skull.
He leans in a bit farther. Threatening Lucius has never gone very well for him historically. But he isn't really in a state to stop himself.
Izzy leans in and gives him a look of pure promise. It's the promise of violence but, ironically, he doesn't actually expect that Izzy will ever throw hands. He cocks a brow and sets his hands on his hips, ignores his basket of neatly folded laundry and promptly exacerbates the situation.
"Did I stutter?" Lucius asks and, a second later, wonders if he did. He has had a lot of alcohol. He's not given to slurring but, well, that Tequila hit hard.
"Yes," he slurs, to clarify. "Absolutely was, yes. I'm gonna make a stupid cocktail and teach the ghosts and you can just...try to stop me?"
Is he suggesting violence or a game? Suddenly he hopes game. This ship is so fucking boring that having someone to play a stupid game of cat and mouse with would be the highlight of his day. He already stops by daily to harass Izzy with shirts and beverages, why not add a game. Lucius's expression goes from sassy and furious to awed. His eyes light up and he grins brightly at Izzy like he's just hung the moon.
"What are the rules--come on, come on," Lucius demands, suddenly rife with energy and excitement. "We need rules. Only that one bar, right? No testing or concocting elsewhere. No...uh...not at night. Gotta sleep, no fun if we're trying to sleep. Come on, give me one."
No no wait, no, he doesn’t want to play a game he never wanted that this is absolutely not what he signed up for.
Lucius veers into new territory and it completely sucks the mounting storm that Izzy had been preparing to rain down on the other man if only to prove a point that he can not and will not tolerate being fucked with.
He would think this was a wind up but the sheer desperation in the other’s voice and actions can not be an act. Even drunk he can glean that.
So what does he do. His goal is just to stop Lucius? Nah fam.
“I think we should make it more interesting than that. Just the one bar, but I make a drink for you in return. We’ll put them head to head whilst trying to stop the other. Worst drink wins under a panel of five judges.”
And because Izzy Hands has zero chill or self preservation against his own arrogance apparently-
Lucius's eyes go round, not like a shocked child, but like a cat that has just seen its next meal go darting outside a window. He could not be more delighted at this shift in the game and Izzy's introduction of stakes. (And what glorious stakes they are.)
"Strong suggestions. Love that. Can't be worst if we're inflictin it on others to judge, though," Lucius tells him. "If that's the case you can just piss in a cup and win--far too easy.
"It's gotta be the best."
He assumes they both know about as much regarding mixing alcohol and fancy add ins...which is to say: nothing. It should be a fair challenge either way. While this, unfortunately, doesn't carry the threat of making a bad drink in the others' name, they're well past that point of the drunken argument they're having. Now it's a matter of pride and who gets to order the other around for a week.
"Give it a week? Best drink wins. I'll even let you pick three judges." Lucius drunkenly holds out a hand to shake and seal the deal.
"On the provision that there is no outside help for either party at all," Izzy follows up. Feeling like that is a very important caveat.
Lucius knows a fair few aboard and could easily employ their knowledge. This needs to be a fair fight or what would be the point of it.
Only when his condition is met does he hold out his hand, only just managing not to spit on it before as is the old way. Somehow he doesn't think Lucius would like that very much and to be honest, Izzy can't blame him. It's kinda gross.
"Agreed. A fair fight it is," Lucius says and takes Izzy's hand. Or, well, he tries but he swings wide for the dramatic effect, misses, and has to try again. He get it on the second pass, mostly, catches him by the elbow and has to ladder it back, but the meaning is the same.
"Right, that's settled now--what...what were we doing before that?" Lucius asks and stares. Drinking, yes, but--fuck was he doing laundry?
"Was I doing laundry? Hell, I should. I should check that."
"Oh good," Lucius heaves a sigh as he glances back at the folded clothes. "I tell you, I left a waistcoat and stockings in there after they'd finished, thinking aye, they're dry yeah?"
He grimaces as he strides, swaying a bit, to fetch the load by the door.
"Don't. The wrinkles that set in are a nightmare." He hoists the basket up and then, as he has it as his hip, remembers--
"Oh! Come along then, got to show you the hot tubs and the bar. Can't go giving me a day advantage, can you?"
An excellent point that he really should have thought of himself, if only he weren't so fucking sozzled. Izzy pulls himself up with a grunt and immediately braces his hand against the wall, letting out a bark of surprise.
He'd thought he was fine until exactly now. Drunk, yes, but he'd been still and sitting with the illusion that he was carrying the liquor rather well on an early morning empty stomach.
He has not.
"Oh fuck," a deep breath. No, no he's okay. He's fine, he can do this. Izzy pushes off the wall with swaying determination to follow. There's a mission, now. By God he'll manage. Probably.
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Oh fuck, he hadn't felt it at first but he is.. wow, yeah he is drunk.
"Or do you lot in the midlands just lick lamps and that."
It is meant to be banter, but you never know. They're both Mean (gay trait tm) so it could go either way and he is feeling a hell of a lost looser with himself than he has since he arrived.
"Because now I have to have one and I'm going to very willingly pin it on you for everyone."
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Fortunately, before he can deliver a sassy riposte, Izzy is on to the threats and Lucius just groans. It's melodramatic, involves letting his head loll back, and he throws up his arms as he does.
"Of course you would--fine, just--no--you know what?" Lucius says and snaps back upright, gesturing at Izzy with his missing index finger. "I'm going to go make another drink and call it the Izzy."
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Izzy rolls forward to lean his forearms on his spread thighs. Oh yes.
"You're not weaponizing cocktails, I'm not fucking having it, Spriggs."
In actually fact, Izzy doesn't give a single fuck about cocktails, and barely knows what one is except a waste of nice spirit, but if that is the way this is going, he is not going to let this little tart slander him with god fucking awful drinks.
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"Oh yeah? Like to see you fucking stop me."
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Izzy's brows pin high on his forehead. There are a few ways to play this but none of them feel particularly good and he can't think too hard without his brain threatening to beat itself against the inside of his skull.
Right now Izzy's brain is also thinking about beating Lucius with a skull.
He leans in a bit farther. Threatening Lucius has never gone very well for him historically. But he isn't really in a state to stop himself.
"Is that a challenge?"
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"Did I stutter?" Lucius asks and, a second later, wonders if he did. He has had a lot of alcohol. He's not given to slurring but, well, that Tequila hit hard.
"Yes," he slurs, to clarify. "Absolutely was, yes. I'm gonna make a stupid cocktail and teach the ghosts and you can just...try to stop me?"
Is he suggesting violence or a game? Suddenly he hopes game. This ship is so fucking boring that having someone to play a stupid game of cat and mouse with would be the highlight of his day. He already stops by daily to harass Izzy with shirts and beverages, why not add a game. Lucius's expression goes from sassy and furious to awed. His eyes light up and he grins brightly at Izzy like he's just hung the moon.
"What are the rules--come on, come on," Lucius demands, suddenly rife with energy and excitement. "We need rules. Only that one bar, right? No testing or concocting elsewhere. No...uh...not at night. Gotta sleep, no fun if we're trying to sleep. Come on, give me one."
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Lucius veers into new territory and it completely sucks the mounting storm that Izzy had been preparing to rain down on the other man if only to prove a point that he can not and will not tolerate being fucked with.
He would think this was a wind up but the sheer desperation in the other’s voice and actions can not be an act. Even drunk he can glean that.
So what does he do. His goal is just to stop Lucius? Nah fam.
“I think we should make it more interesting than that. Just the one bar, but I make a drink for you in return. We’ll put them head to head whilst trying to stop the other. Worst drink wins under a panel of five judges.”
And because Izzy Hands has zero chill or self preservation against his own arrogance apparently-
“Loser is the other’s cabin boy for a week.”
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"Strong suggestions. Love that. Can't be worst if we're inflictin it on others to judge, though," Lucius tells him. "If that's the case you can just piss in a cup and win--far too easy.
"It's gotta be the best."
He assumes they both know about as much regarding mixing alcohol and fancy add ins...which is to say: nothing. It should be a fair challenge either way. While this, unfortunately, doesn't carry the threat of making a bad drink in the others' name, they're well past that point of the drunken argument they're having. Now it's a matter of pride and who gets to order the other around for a week.
"Give it a week? Best drink wins. I'll even let you pick three judges." Lucius drunkenly holds out a hand to shake and seal the deal.
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Lucius knows a fair few aboard and could easily employ their knowledge. This needs to be a fair fight or what would be the point of it.
Only when his condition is met does he hold out his hand, only just managing not to spit on it before as is the old way. Somehow he doesn't think Lucius would like that very much and to be honest, Izzy can't blame him. It's kinda gross.
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"Right, that's settled now--what...what were we doing before that?" Lucius asks and stares. Drinking, yes, but--fuck was he doing laundry?
"Was I doing laundry? Hell, I should. I should check that."
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Yeah what were they doing. He was reading. That plan is now firmly out the fucking window.
"It's by the door."
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He grimaces as he strides, swaying a bit, to fetch the load by the door.
"Don't. The wrinkles that set in are a nightmare." He hoists the basket up and then, as he has it as his hip, remembers--
"Oh! Come along then, got to show you the hot tubs and the bar. Can't go giving me a day advantage, can you?"
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An excellent point that he really should have thought of himself, if only he weren't so fucking sozzled. Izzy pulls himself up with a grunt and immediately braces his hand against the wall, letting out a bark of surprise.
He'd thought he was fine until exactly now. Drunk, yes, but he'd been still and sitting with the illusion that he was carrying the liquor rather well on an early morning empty stomach.
He has not.
"Oh fuck," a deep breath. No, no he's okay. He's fine, he can do this. Izzy pushes off the wall with swaying determination to follow. There's a mission, now. By God he'll manage. Probably.
"You're going to ruin me."
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