Back on Track

[perma_banned]

CHARACTERS: Ban, OPEN

DATE: Following the Oska reveal

WARNINGS: None known, yet!

SUMMARY: Choosing to make the worst of the situation he's been placed in, Ban opts to loiter around in public spaces--becoming an exceptional waste of space.


The Dining Hall

Of all priorities possessed by Ban, the inclination to drown himself and lose all sense was one that fell to an immensely important position in his mind. The moment he found the Dining Hall, he scooped up a bottle and popped it open with his thumb, making his way to the kitchen in a relaxed stride. There weren't any staff members at work to interrupt him as he shoved the door open--everything simply appeared on tables, at the ready, the moment someone presented themselves.

Ban wasn't particularly interested in being treated. He looked inside the kitchen, fishing through cabinets and freezers, pulling out what he needed with one hand, while the other funneled a particularly warm bottle of beer down his throat in sloppy, guzzling gestures of his throat. When he was done with that bottle, Ban flung it across the room--the resulting spray of glass covering an outer corner.

He began to lay out his ingredients, briefly puzzled as he turned from one counter to the other to find a plate of steak and mixed vegetables where he initially worked--right next to what he had laid out. Ban gingerly picked up the dish, walked it to an adjacent counter and set it down, before returning to where he had set his things down. He was feeling up for soup--something he could carry with him in a mug as he walked around. It would go well enough with more of that ale, at least.

He began preparing the meal, finding another dish in his way as he went from one station to the other. The next plate was simply a steaming platter of corn-on-the-cob and a side bowl of melted butter. Ban's brow twitched, his reddened face turning a bit pale as he moved it aside, placing it on the same counter as the steak. He resumed cooking.

Another bottle of ale appeared--in the way of Ban's hand as he reached for stock, a brow lifting to suit the surprise. He popped it open and nursed it while moving back to cooking. Again, there was a plate of food in his way. When he turned, looked away and looked back--there was something new for him to move. It continued on and on, to the point that Ban's hands were a blur of activity, new dishes appearing and lasting for a moment before he set them on the adjacent counter.

"Would you let the fuck up!?" Screaming on occasion, Ban blamed the kitchen for his irritation.

He became a haunting phantom, moving back and forth, too quick to be seen as he harried himself with the need to finish the soup. More ale got in his way, seeming to help in delaying him. It was a dirty thing, but Ban made headway. He finished the soup, lifting a ladle from the pot with one hand as dishes of other foods piled up around the stove. Dizzy, Ban found himself staring with some contempt at the soup, not quite feeling up to eating any at that time. He was already full of ale.

The Courtyard
A
The grounds had vastly improved since he last wandered them, looking much more the part of an actual castle's territory rather than a battered ruin. Throwing himself over a little stone divider, Ban sat with a bottle of ale, dizzily regarding people as the milled around. Most other recruits were interested in getting information from Oska, adjusting and making something for themselves. He was more interested in keeping away from possibility of making a meaningful impact on anything in the world. Answers be damned--questions and wants had never gotten anything but grief for Ban.

He could be found in the midst of his loitering, humming and drinking from what he snatched in the Dining Hall and when he wasn't peeling off ale bottle labels to stuff into his pockets, Ban was hurling empty bottles over peoples' heads like little missiles to cause a very dull and senseless sort of mischief.

A
Without any inclination to explore, Ban was left to drink himself to sleep. He didn't care where he sat--falling asleep by a courtyard wall as he had spent a large portion of the day. A rivulet of drool escaped the corner of his mouth, forming an unsightly dark trail leading down his chin--dripping onto his upper body. His hands were slack on his lap as he snored lightly, knocked out from his usual excess. At the very least, the sleep left him quiet--considerably less prone to tease and prod with the usual harrowing annoyance towards his comrades. His nap was probably a fine way to escape him.

Or, to make use of a risky moment to enact a petty sort of revenge.

(OOC: Just some open-ended prompts for the week! If you feel like a thread, I'm at dannication! Date it and PM me if you'd like or just write a random prompt.)

Comments

[grunehexe]

[There was an unconscious drunk sleeping in the middle of the courtyard.

Sieglinde was making her way across the castle in her usual way- mincing, delicate steps on three-inch feet in a swaying of skirts, one hand held tight on the thick leather collar of the skull-faced canine she called her familiar. More like an aid dog, really, but. Let a little witch have some dignity.

While before she might have sniffed disdainfully and continued on to the library to return the books in her arms, (Magic of the Seventy Three Realms, Potion-making Traditions of the Swamp Witches, and others of the like overflowing in her arms)... that would have been before her possession. Before that day.

So she stopped. Pulled at Isengrim until the bizarre creature obliged and accompanied her towards the sleeping drunk, where she stood somewhat helplessly for a moment before frowning, putting all but one of the books down then straightening up as tall as she could-

In order to hit him on the top of the head with Herbal Tinctures & Balms of the Illian Sorceress.]

[perma_banned]

[Bearing in mind that a book could be as handy as a club or a switch if swung at the right angle and intent, it was fortunate that Ban recovered fairly easily from blows to the head--and, he was still a little drunk, despite his nap. With flickering eyes, Ban shifted slowly on his side with one hand raised to scratch his head.

Blearily, he stared at Sieglinde, one eye still a bit lidded as the other came to attention.]

Brat?

[grunehexe]

[Thankfully for Ban, even if Sieglinde knew the right angle to hit him, she definitely didn't have the strength for it. Just hitting him with the book almost sent her toppling forward into him, and she had to pinwheel just to keep from doing so.

... Which was for the best, because she really didn't want to come into contact with any of that disgusting drool. Gross, Ban.]

Sieglinde Sullivan. The Green Witch, and Lord of Wolfsschlucht.

[She corrected him a bit haughtily- an emotion she hadn't intended to display, but. He was drunk before high noon, and really- why would you wish to intentionally dull your senses like that? How foolish.

It was quite bizarre to think that a man like this could say things that were actually comforting. Or, had been at the time.]

[perma_banned]

[An arch look followed Sieglinde's address. He could have made a comment on how she nearly threw herself to the cobblestones in that gesture, but he was more caught off guard by her name. He remembered her, at least. Unfortunately, the last time he saw her wasn't under the best of circumstances.

Just the same, it was also twelve years ago. With much shorter hair, Ban looked like a different sort of thug.

He reached up with the back of his hand and wiped drool from his lips and chin.]

I think I remember a little of that~.

[It was still a little weird, remembering someone from a decade previous--when they hadn't changed a bit.]

I'm not callin' you all of that, though ♪.

[grunehexe]

[The problem with being twelve is, no matter how much you knew about potionmaking or magic or chemical warfare... adults just sort of looked like adults. And this one just seemed to have gotten a haircut since they last met-

It's hard to remember, that day. Most of it spent not in proper possession of her own body, the rest a blur. Not something she even wanted to remember.

Better to focus on the disgusting smear of drool on this man's face.]

You may call me Lord Sullivan.

[But now that she's got her balance back, and her book tight in her arms, and she knows he deserves a bit more than that.]

Just Sieglinde will do if you must.

[agrizzlysin]

[Even after the ruined world around them was revealed to be a lie, King remains particularly unimpressed with ALASTAIR's hospitality. He's spent his time exploring every inch of Oska he can, and when he finally makes his way to a room, he decides he preferred the birch forest by the lake. The lack of windows leaves him feeling nostalgic and lacking in an exhausting way.

He doesn't like not being able to see outside. He doesn't like not being able to see Diane.

A lot has happened in the week since he woke up in an unknown dungeon, and it's finally catching up to him. All of it. King plops down on the provided bed face first, Chastiefol clutched tightly over his head. As he fades out of consciousness, he makes a promise to himself. He will do everything in his power to return to the other Sins.

But first: a nap.]

[perma_banned]

Hmm Hmmm~.

[The very moment that King began to relax, the inevitable happened. It was likely a familiar horror, even if it was one that King hadn't experienced in awhile. There was a brief creak in the hall-the shifting as someone touched the door. There was a huff and then a burst as the door itself caved in.

Stumbling through was Ban, silhouetted by the light in the hall.

There was no rest for the sinful--not yet, at least.]

[agrizzlysin]

[No rest for the wicked as they say. Usually because of someone else who is also wicked.

King jolts up when his door comes down, still holding Chastiefol around his head like a giant helmet. That dark form, silhouetted by the light in the hall, is devastatingly familiar. King instantly knows who's at his door and why. With resources once again available, of course Ban would get blindingly, searingly drunk, and drunken Ban has always had the worst kind of radar: a finding-people-who-want-nothing-to-do-with-drunkards radar. The ornery fairy glares a no doubt familiar glare, but his Chastiefol helmet ruins the effect a bit. Not only does it highlight the bags under his eyes but it's also just kind of silly.]

What, did my door creak at you wrong?

[perma_banned]

[The inclination to try and decipher what was going on didn't really appeal to Ban at that time. He found a dark room with a pleasant smell to it. It smelled like a bed of flowers and a mountain's morning dew. He threw himself forward, bottle falling to the ground with a clatter. He slammed the door shut and it went dark once more.

Steps were taken to King as Ban ushered forward a dark and leering grin.

Oh, it was King.

Without hesitation, Ban threw himself forward onto the bed, right over the Fairy King.]

I'm beaaaat, King~. Think it's time for a naaaap.

[agrizzlysin]

[Only Ban can ruin something wonderful just by doing it himself.

That silhouette in front of his door goes dark, and for just a second, King is left blind as his eyes readjust. He sees the glint of Ban's shameless smirk just in time for the taller man to slump on top of him. He flails the moment he realizes what's happening, desperately holding up Ban's weight with Chastiefol as he kicks wildly.]

So go find your own bed! This one's taken, idiot!

Dining Hall

[boneafide]

Papyrus wasn't really sure what he wanted to eat when he headed down to the kitchen, but he figured he'd pick something out by the time he got down there. He expected would be a nice, clean, and maybe empty kitchen. What he didn't expect to see was the absolutely bizarre mess of broken things, plates of food, and booze spills everywhere. The whole kitchen smelled like delicious food and alcohol. And then he sees Ban. Everything makes sense.

"Wowie Ban," the skeleton states, stepping over a pile of now shattered glass or ceramic, wondering if maybe there's a nearby broom he can clean this up with. "You must really hate clean kitchens! And also things in one piece!"

[perma_banned]

His attention, stolen, fell to Papyrus in an instant. When had the skeleton snuck up on him? It turned his frustrated expression into one of sedation as he set his completed pot of soup on a pad to absorb the heat. He lifted a fresh bottle of ale, lifting it to his lips--blinking as he saw the end of it was shattered and the contents had been spilled on the floor, earlier.

"Hey~" He smiled, forced even if he was irritated by the spilled ale. Even if he was worried to see Papyrus.

[boneafide]

"Hello! Have you seen- ah, there!"

A broom! Just what he was looking for. Papyrus goes to the corner of the kitchen where a small kitchen broom sits and picks it up, beginning to sweep up the little shards of broken bottles.

"What did you make?" The skeleton asks, keeping up pleasant conversation and hoping he wasn't bothering the other too much. He didn't seem like he really wanted company, last time they spoke.

[perma_banned]

"Soup~" Responding easily, Ban watched Papyrus from the corner of his eyes even if he wasn't looking at him directly. He began wiping down the counter. He would have done that anyway, drunk or not--whether he wanted to meet Papyrus' eyes or not.

"It's easy enough to make even if I'm outta my mind ♪"

Yet, he was terrible at it. As much as he didn't want forgiveness for what he had done, it was impossible to keep himself at bay. It was easy to tell where Papyrus was tense and concerned. Even if he had all that self-loathing, Ban was still thinking in the back of his mind that it would be terrible to deny such a good guy any attention.

"Even a drunkard can make passable soup."

[boneafide]

"And even a chef can burn soup sometimes!" Like he has.

Papyrus sweeps up all the little broken pieces, putting them into a dustpan, and into the trash bin. There! ... well. There's still all that liquid. It's going to be even less easy to find a mop, though. He can come back to do that though. For now...

"Ban," he speaks up, focus no longer torn between cleaning and the other. It'll be obvious Ban is trying to avoid looking at him if he keeps cleaning the counter at this point. "...if I... did something wrong, please let me know."

courtyard

[terrormine]

Normally, Edna wouldn't spare a single glance to anyone keeping quiet and minding their own business. Whether it be a philosopher pondering about the metaphysical meaning to various matters, a romantic daydreaming of impossible ideals, or a hobo napping by a wall, those who aren't openly disruptive can do whatever they want.

But then, the smell hit her. Whether it gives credit to the quality of air in Oska or not, the stench of alcohol is strong and deeply unpleasant. So she walks up to the figure and stops a few feet away from the offending source, and after giving the unimpressive sight one flat glance, brings her folded umbrella down onto the earth with a soft tap.

The ground lightly rumbles for a few short seconds. Whatever she did, the wall's suddenly grown out a half-sphere like protrusion. Comparable to a sink but upside down, it now effectively covers the sleeping man's head like a rocky helmet. It's far from enough to choke him and he certainly shouldn't have any trouble ducking his head out, but it sure would start getting stuffy in there soon enough.

...Not that Edna plans to stick around, though she does spend a few more moments scowling at her handiwork. It's not a super effective way to stop the smell and she's fully aware, but it's what she can do considering the amount of effort she was willing to spend. ...Hm. Maybe she SHOULD have just stuffed his mouth with earth, after all.

In any case. With the source at least somewhat controlled, she reopens her umbrella over her shoulder, and begins to saunter away.

[perma_banned]

"Ah?"

Of course, Ban's disorientation didn't help him. First he was woken up by the shudder of rock, but the follow-up of earth shoving itself up his nose and over his eyes came with a choking cough and a sudden shift of his head. The stone encapsulated a fair section of his head before he went rigid.

And then, his fist shot up to punch the shell around the top part of his head, shattering it in a bloody rain. His head was gushing blood from having swung just a bit too hard into his own skull.

"...The hell was that all about?"

1/2

[terrormine]

The loud noise was startling, whether or not she would like to claim otherwise. It does cause her to halt her step and turn around, just in time to witness the man punch her little five-second art project apart and shower himself with his own blood in the process.

...

2/2

[terrormine]

...

Deciding practically instantly that this was a messy scene with a noise level above her tolerance, she turns her back to the strange man (who obviously has no qualms cutting himself up, so of course she can just assume he's gonna be fine) and resumes walking away from him with unhurried little girl steps. Oska weirdo count: +1.

[perma_banned]

There had to have been some sort of glitch in the environment--a trick of the eye. The ragged looking drunk was shaking dust out of his hair, seated on the ground all the same, but when the young lady turned her back, he had been in front of her again.

That time, he was in the middle of the path.

[terrormine]

The abrupt appearance of an unexpected roadblock forces her to stop again, and she peeks up from her umbrella at the bloody drunk who's now standing in her way.

Her nose wrinkles a little. ...Urgh, the stench is even stronger now. She can keep that to herself though, as she looks at him in the face with dainty and innocent airs.

"Can you please step aside, mister? You're blocking the way."

that soup tho

[adoube]

[ Back and forth, come and go, ease and slow, then faaasssssster. He's made a game of it, he has, dear Tall, White & Stumbling. First the pot, then the bottle, the bottle and the pot. Fascinated, Dio's followed the dance from its first steps, slithering in slowly and surely to make tip-toed advance on the brewing soup.

So, it's come to this: the final betrayal, 'Ban''s glare set, the ale army gaining ground on floor and tile and waiting surface — ...and then there's Dio, swooping in to take a taste of the raised and woefully neglected ladle. It's not his turn or his place or his priority, but it is food, and it does wait, and a meal's always more savoury when it's stolen.

So, then: sluuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrp. ]

It's... [ The wet smack of his lips. Nom-nom. ] ...dis... gusting!

[ Why are you laughing, then, Dio Eraclea. What is this enjoyment. ]

[perma_banned]

[Of course, Ban watched Dio--all three of him--as he took the ladle and drank deeply from it. Ban, lifting another bottle of ale to his lips, took a long drink as he thought about the taste.

He was laughing, even while he called it disgusting.]

That sooo~? [Ban rubbed his chin with some thought. He spilled a little ale on his shirt.]

Weiiird. I always thought stealin' food made it taste better ~.

[adoube]

[ There's a cure for this series of most unfortunate culinary events: more dainty sipping, Dio this time earning full command of the ladle. It's dipped again, retrieving bits and bobs of something remotely resembling mushroom, and he whiles the better part of a blink nibbling away at the morsel.

It passes some test or the other, earthy notes carrying down the ingredient. Dio's lips pull together in a strained short line, presumably scolding. ]

Then don't give it to me freely.

[ Chew, sip, sink the ladle, bring it up again. Inspect, briefly, the floating surface and the density of the liquid therein. Realise, belatedly, that he wouldn't know the difference between proper presentation and mere imitation, anyway. Drink again. ]

It'll be so disgusting, I'll get sick.

[perma_banned]

[He continued drinking, listening to Dio in the meanwhile. He could have intervened--someone was getting their slobber all over the ladle to his dish, but it was apparent that they were eating pretty thoroughly at that.

Ban couldn't keep his smile away at that.]

My services must be completely unwanted, then~.

[He added, with a false sense of a desire to sound consoling.]

Shall I throw it away, then?