sixthiterationlogs | You wait your turn and

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You wait your turn and

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

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.)

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It's a petite brunette who answers him. A petite brunette not wearing the scrubs, but a skirt over petticoats, a simple white blouse (no fastenings) pulled in at the waist by a plaited fabric cord. A narrow waist, because wearing a corset since the age of ten does that to even a working-clas girl's figure, particularly when she's taken the time to craft some proper undergarments here.

A petite brunette who arches her eyebrows and tilts her head in a manner a bit more daring than flirtatious.

"Now then, if someone's given you that tea and told you it was wine, I dare say it might be your own fault for not checkin' the colour," Kate says, tartly. "But if you find any fruit that don't need to be dried for storage, you are more than welcome to try your hand at bein' a vintner."

Margaery managed to catch the tail end of Byerly's arrival, hearing the familiar sounds of a new arrival's struggle out of the fountain. With the cold setting in, she couldn't imagine that the water and thinness of the scrubs would help make this arrival comfortable.

Pulling off her wool cloak, she held it out to the man, offering him something warm to help combat the winter air around them. "It is a bit of a shock, I know." She said gently. "Thankfully the water hasn't frozen." She didn't want to imagine how it would be once the ice set in. Someone would need to be vigilant about that.

"I wish I could direct you to a place where you might find better clothes, but as you can see," she tugged at her own scrubs, "we're a bit limited in resources here. I can, however, take you somewhere warm and dry."

Oh thank goodness, there was someone around here that hasn't lost their minds and thought these awfully cut things were worthy to be worn around all the time.

His attention is next drawn to petite she is. He's no giant of a man himself at 5'10" but she was small--and that arch of the eyebrow does nothing to make him back off. In fact, it does the opposite. How much spunk does this seemingly young woman have? Hell, if he's trapped here for now, might as well have some fun with it.

"Typically if I ask for wine, I'm given wine," he replies smoothly. "I'm not quite sure what the barmaid heard that sounded like tea. If this is what people are hearing when I ask for 'wine', I may be sorely tempted to take up that sort of labor for once." Byerly Vorrutyer looks like he's hardly worked a day in his life.

"While we're talking where did you get your clothing? I need something proper to wear and not these. I look like I'm going to a burning ceremony everyday."

He hadn't realized quite how cold it was through the shock of the arrival and the means of it. Seeing the wool seems to kickstart his senses and he realizes he's shivering.

Byerly receives that cloak from the stunning creature in front of him gratefully, wrapping it around himself, attempting to dry as much as keep in heat.

"Yes, thankfully," he replies quite sarcastically. At this point, if the water was frozen, at least he wouldn't be suffering as he is now.

"Somewhere warm and dry would be a decent start but where, exactly, is 'here'?" And he's afraid to ask why resources are limited. He wants out of these horrible things ASAP. He can't stand short sleeves.

"No idea, but if you happen to find a bottle of scotch while you're looking, could you let me know?"

Seated at one of the tables, Matt turns an easy smile in the direction of the distinctly offended voice, his head tipping just a bit to better hear, eyes softly focused on the middle distance. "You're new," he says, more a statement than a question, his eyebrows lifting, gently curious.

"I don't think there's any booze around here at all," he adds. "Something like that wouldn't keep secret for long."

"It isn't far from the inn," she said gently, placing her arm around his shoulders. It was a familiar gesture, one that she wouldn't often do with a stranger, but she hoped to help keep him warm. "I'm afraid that I can't exactly answer where 'here' is. We are in the wilderness, in buildings that were here before we arrived. Beyond this, we know little else."

It was disturbing, as well as frustrating that there is little in the way of explanation. "We don't know why we are here. There are a number of us in the village, brought into this place by the same way." It was unpleasant.

"There is a fire and tea at the inn."

Byerly squares himself towards the unfamiliar man, honing in on where his eyes are pointed. Interesting.

"You're telling me there's no alcohol anywhere around here?" That's practically blasphemous to the Vor's ears--no meal went by without at least the offer of wine. His voice has an absolutely scandalized tone to it.

"Yes, how could you tell?" and his voice is dripping with sarcasm.

Peggy feels like the Inn is a much better place for her to shower and change, which is what she's done after another day working in the fields. Wandering downstairs, she's pinning her hair into rolls so that it'll dry properly when a new man asks her about wine. "Unless someone's found grapes and a way to ferment them, I'm afraid you're terribly out of luck. We've got plenty of water, though," is her dry, deadpan remark as she gives him a rueful smile. Water, though, is hardly what he's after and Peggy is very aware of that unfortunate fact.

"Though, now if you do find wine, I'll be the first at your door for a sip," Peggy guarantees.

My, isn't this cozy? Having a beautiful woman wrap an arm around him is almost worth the discomfort of the horrible rags clinging to him.

Her answers do not satisfy, however. His brows furrow as he attempts to piece together something coherent out of what she just told him and what he's observed thus far.

The furthest he gets?

"You're telling me we were kidnapped, dumped somewhere into a fountain and we've no idea where we are. I believe I'll need a glass of wine instead of tea once we get to that inn." He's content to have her keep her arm wrapped around him, but sadly, that's not enough to keep him warm at this point.

"Make that an entire bottle." Byerly moves to separate himself from her rather reluctantly but turns and gently takes her hand, bowing over it and looking up at her with a small smirk (his face simply wouldn't look quite right if he were to genuinely smile).

"Byerly Vorrutyer. I appreciate your kindness thus far."

She rubs his shoulders, trying her best to keep him warm. When he eventually shifts her arm away and takes her hand, she can't help but flinch at how frozen his skin feels. Lingering outdoors isn't wise. He will only become ill and, despite how nice it is to see his face and that smirk (isn't he roguish?), she wanted to get him somewhere warm.

"Margaery Tyrell," she said with a sweet smile. "It is no great kindness to want to help you get your bearings, as well as somewhere warm. Come," she gave his hand a small tug. "We are nearly there."

He was in for a rude awakening for how life in the village truly was. "We have to make do without a number of luxuries. We make our own food, we farm and we have hunters. However, with what we have been able to make for ourselves, it means that we must accept the fact that certain things must be done without. We currently do not have any wine."

A very rude awakening indeed.

"Quite the opposite. You could just as easily have kept walking by instead of offering me your coat and gracing me with your company," because truly, the latter was what he was most interested in at this point--he could have found the inn eventually. He allows himself to be tugged, using his free hand to clutch the cloak around his shoulders.

As she explains these things to him, his smirk turns into a frown, lips thin. It's with the last sentence that she lands her blow.

"No wine? How do you tolerate having to do all the rest then?" Because in his opinion, if Byerly has to do physical labor, he'd prefer to do it buzzed.

"I suppose any company would be preferable than being alone in the cold." She replied, teasing him gently. Once they were stepping inside the inn, she shook her head, trying to keep her snow dampened hair from freezing. She didn't doubt that he would be grateful for the fire, but she was longing for that warmth herself.

It was easy to see and understand this disappointment. There were days where she felt she needed a drink too.

"We tolerate it because we want to survive." She said gently. "Here. Let's find you a room so that you can change and dry off."

Jon, too, had been bemoaning the lack of a good ale for a while now and hearing someone else within the inn ask about wine only highlighted that. As the nights grew colder and colder still, he craved hot wine just as he'd drunk as Lord Commander back at Castle Black; it was better quality than the ale he'd quaff with the men, to be sure, and the warmth and spices kept him warm through the long nights. It would be good to have such here.

"No wine, no ale. This place is a prison that way," Jon said, looking over at the man. His face was one he didn't know, a new face, and Jon wondered when he might have come. It would have been recently, he imagined, or else the man had just kept to himself for a while; the village was small enough that new arrivals got integrated fairly quickly.

"Water or goat's milk, that's all we've got."

Byerly scowls--not the response he wanted to hear, though it did come from quite the handsome face. That certainly tempered the blow.

"Unless the water or goat's milk on this planet contains alcohol, I'm afraid I won't be satisfied. Are there no grapes in this barren place?"

He's an average sized man, appears slim but if one looks past his sleeves at his bare arms in his black scrubs, he is a bit more muscular than one would expect. His most striking feature is his eyes as they look up at Jon.

"Considering your dismay at the lack of real beverage, I believe I am in good company," he replies teasingly. He spreads a hand on his chest as he bows forward ever so slightly. "Byerly Vorrutyer."

The difference here most likely being that Byerly needed a drink everyday. He's Vor and it's in his blood. Days didn't feel complete without a glass of wine.

"And I find that your company is preferable to just any company," he replies back to her teasing.

When they step into the inn, he shivers a bit more to get the last of the cold shaken out of his bones where it had settled for the short time they'd been outside. The warmth of the shelter itself was helping tremendously--the parts of his scrubs not covered by the cloak were starting to become stiff in the cold.

"Getting out of these clothes is preferable but what am I to change into?" He's almost afraid to ask.

She lead him upstairs, pointing to the row of rooms that she knew were empty. "You haven't met anyone else thus far. I don't have much in the way of competition." She grinned, waiting until he picked a room.

"There are a pair of undergarments in the bag, as well as towels, if you need it. You will at least have something to cover yourself with while your clothes are being dried." She manages to say it all without the hint of blush. Her mind mainly on laying out his scrubs and her cloak before the floor was ruined.

"While you get cleaned up, I could get you some tea." She wanted a cup for herself.

"I daresay as I continue to meet more people that will still hold true." Oh he likes her. The right amount of sass about her, favorable physical attributes aside. He does indeed pick a room, lifting a judgmental eyebrow at the furnishings. Barebones to say the least, and no taste to what actually is in the room. Sad, really. Definitely not a Barrayaran style...which brings him back to what exactly is happening.

"Someone has started working on a distress signal yes? Have we managed to figure out what planet we're on?" he asks as he takes off his cold, damp scrub top--because honestly the foliage wasn't entirely familiar to him.

"No wine?" he repeats incredulously. "Good god, what does anyone do for fun around here?" And the sad part is that he's only half kidding.

"If I find wine, I'm afraid there may not be any left by the time you hear about it," he retorts, taking another sip of his tea and scowling at it.

"Flatterer," she said, giving him a wry grin. She knew his type, actually being quite similar to him herself. He was a charmer and seemed well aware of his physical beauty. She didn't doubt that he knew how to use it and was capable of sweeping women off their feet.

Were she not able to do the same with men, it might actually work on her. "We will have to test that theory. You will meet many wonderful people here."

The question seemed absurd, but for someone who just arrived, it seemed a logical instinct. There was no way to really describe where 'here' was. Of course he would want to try and find a way out. "I don't think that's possible. We are alone, as far as we can see. Every time we try to explore the woods...it changes."

She turned her back as he peeled off his shirt, quickly leaving the room and waiting outside for him.

Matt huffs out a soft laugh, which he knows isn't exactly fair, even if he doesn't mean for it to be mocking. This guy hasn't been here long enough to have the luxury of finding shit like this funny, and to be honest, it's probably kind of sad that Matt does. You work with what you've got.

"Apart from that you're asking about booze?" he says, smile affable -- He isn't looking to start a fight, just lighten the mood. "Could be worse. You could be blind and have no booze." He shrugs, his smile quirking.

"I'm Matt. When did you show up?"

She's not sure who, exactly, is around the Inn currently, but there are a number of women's faces who appear in her mind along with 'would pour the wrong thing if annoyed', and her mouth curls with amusement.

"We don't exactly have barmaids here, sir. Or what you'd call staff. More residents of the Inn and volunteers. But there ain't any wine around here. Or any alcohol at all, come to think of it."

As if she hasn't thought about it for months, and the softening of the world it provides. The oblivion in her brain.

"As for me clothes, I made 'em out of what I found. But if it's the fit that bothers you on that, some people might be persuaded to help on that."

She arches a brow, a dozen quips on her lips about the things that she can think of doing with the absence of wine, but they would merely be flights of fantasy. Sadly, Peggy's life has resembled more like a nun than anything else, since the war. She gives him a sympathetic look as he drinks and has to wonder whether he's new, to be so disillusioned so quickly about a lack of a beverage. "Don't worry, I'm scrappy and can hold my own. Plus, I think I deserve the wine after the things I've gone through."

"Peggy," she introduces herself, extending a hand. "And who are you, so that I can keep you in mind if I do find a treasure trove of alcohol?"

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."

"No, no grapes from what I've seen," Jon said. No ale or mead, either, so there was nothing to keep a man warm at night. It had been a long while since he'd had anything strong to drink - too long, by Jon's estimation. Some of the things he'd seen here, he needed a drink or three to get through.

"Jon Snow, my lord. I don't know your face. Are you new here, then?" It was evident, at least to Jon, that with the way he'd introduced himself that he was high-born; Jon would greet him accordingly.

Byerly stays quiet at her declaration. His entire life up until this point revolved around exposing how "wonderful people" are actually not so wonderful--how one's neighbor, cousin, parent, sibling may be a part of a dark plot that may be undermining their government. No, he always has his guard up, whether he appears to or not, even now with Margaery. Byerly is unsure what's happening around here but who's to say she's not in on it herself?

As she leaves the room, him not bothering at all to maintain modesty, he calls after her through the door, "What do you mean the woods change?" He continues to strip down, actually warmer without the damp scrubs on. He hangs them over the chair in the room to dry before turning to his pack and finding replacement undergarments and...good god what were those hideous things? Some sort of awful denim pants...eugh. He set those aside and grabbed the long underwear and put that and the top on with his own pea coat on top of it all to warm himself up. He comes outside of the room when he's done changing.

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You wait your turn and

The Inn

The Fountain

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Inn

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settling in

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the inn

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