You wait your turn and

[domesticaffairs]

WHO: Byerly Vorrutyer and you!
WHERE: Fountain/ Fountain Park
WHEN: November 13
OPEN TO: ONE AND ALL
WARNINGS: Possibly language, will update as needed
STATUS: Open

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arrival//the fountain

The cool water surrounding him jolts him awake. How...? Byerly Vorrutyer never got near enough to a body of water to warrant swimming. It's such a bizarre circumstance that it takes Byerly a few beats to realize that he is, in fact, fully clothed and his upward momentum is slowing considerably from the weight of them. His mind finally kicks into gear, running through possibilities for this situation as he kicks upwards, lungs burning.

He breaks the surface, cool air biting at his face as he paddles over to what appears to be the edge of the fountain. He heaves in a couple of large breaths of air and pulls himself up and over the edge, sitting there and looking around. Where in the world...? Or was this even Barrayar? Was it the correct world?

But aside from that...

"Good god," he says to whoever is passing by at this point, Russian accent thick, "Would you mind pointing me in the direction of clothing that doesn't look like a shapeless potato sack? Something to dry off in the meantime would be nice as well." His black scrubs are soaked and clinging to him as his sharp, stunning brown eyes look up at you through his eyelashes as he runs a hand through his dark hair to sweep it back into place.

settling in//the inn

Byerly Vorrutyer did not like this place at all. He wanted back to Barrayar on the next ship, which is saying something because he doesn't often go traveling abroad.

For that matter, how the hell did he end up on Earth? Could it be someone he pissed off that he hadn't heard about?--er, someone he's pissed off more, anyway. But how could he have possibly been kept knocked utterly unconscious for weeks on end? The logistics would be mind-boggling and he's certain he hasn't lost any weight, he would notice...or at least, he thought he would despite these godforsaken rags they call clothing here.

He's mulling this all over with a somewhat sour expression, but it becomes even moreso after he takes a sip of his drink. He stares incredulously into the cup and turns to you.

"Do you by chance happen to know where I could get a real glass of wine around here?" He would never look down on the Vorlane wine ever again once he got back home ("if" doesn't even cross his mind.)

Comments

the inn

[warriorborn]

Benedict is currently stomping snow off his boots before he trudges across the common room floor, grimacing as the wet fabric of his black scrubs sticks to his ankles. He'll have to change, or maybe he can camp out by the fire for a bit to dry out, but right now he has to deal with his current task: depositing the firewood he's got stacked in his arms by the stove so Miss Kate can get started on the meal.

There's a new person sitting in the Inn that he doesn't recognize, and his suspicion of their newness is only compounded when he asks for wine.

"There's no wine," is Benedict's somewhat curt reply as he weaves his way through the chairs and tables. "Or beer, or anything stronger. It's tea or nothing, I'm afraid."

Re: the inn

[domesticaffairs]

"None? Surely someone around here is holding out on us. Society can't function without alcohol." Or at least, Byerly's society and ideas about it can't. Vor practically live on wine.

"I feel as though whiskey would be better at warming one's insides than tea ever could," he replies wistfully. He's leaning back, posture at ease, one leg crossed over the other in black scrubs as he watches this new person's every move. Definitely not bad looking. Byerly may be able to have a bit of fun talking to him.

[warriorborn]

"We've been functioning for months just fine without it, so I think we'll be alright." Benedict can't help being amused. Everyone reacts differently to being landed here — heaven knows he spent his first week terrified and amazed that he was on the Surface — but he's fairly certain nobody has been so adamantly offended at the fact that there were no spirits to be had. "Though if you manage to procure some, I'm sure there'd be plenty of people around all too happy to make your acquaintance."

Benedict has never been much of a drinker, his high metabolism rendering most alcohol rather moot by the time it reaches his system, and he's never felt bereft without it.

This new man, wearing the same black scrubs that Benedict is, reminds him painfully of the type of boys from the High Houses he'd run into in the Guard. It makes him feel unaccountably wistful, even though he'd have originally said he'd be secretly glad to never have to deal with them again. Funny, what things make you feel homesick.

"I've found tea does the trick, most nights," he replies, looking down at the cup to judge who made the brew based on its color. "At least we have some honey to sweeten it."

[domesticaffairs]

"There's honey around and no one's yet thought to make mead?" he asks incredulously. Not that he knows how to. Byerly isn't exactly the sort that does that kind of labor. It was for proles after all, those without Vor in front of their last names.

"Also, I'm offended you think I need alcohol to make someone's acquaintance when I have my looks and personality instead," he retorts, hand over his chest in feigned offense.