NB: Pellinor fic! Just a bit of fun :p I don't own anyone! YES, the characters are OOC! That's because they're drunk, people! :p
And before you get any ideas, I wrote this BEFORE I read The Singing, so there's no chance of any spoilers inside this fic!
NO THINKING ABOUT TOMORROW
This was bad, Cadvan decided, downing his tenth tankard of ale that night and attempting to refocus on the crazy dancing grinding around the floor in front of him. This was a bad situation he was in. There were many little things which made this overall situation so very bad. The alcohol. The heat. The music. The crowd. The hundreds of voices echoing all around him, the hundreds of bodies pressing into him at every twist and turn…oh, by the Light, the damned crowd…
And the lights were so bright, too bright. And all that wild dancing, the thunder of feet on the floor, the smell of the sweat…and her, her amongst it all, above it all, whirling around and around, a different boy gripping her at every turn, her head thrown back in delighted laughter as she swept along with the dance, never missing a step, her hair flying in her excitement, eyes dark with drunkenness.
He couldn't keep his eyes off her.
No. Bad. Bad. Time to drink more. He gripped the tankard and raised it to his lips, then realised he had drunk all its contents already.
"Blast it," he swore, then put the glass down and tried to focus on the bar, which waved cheerily at him from across the dancefloor. Too far away, he decided. His legs would never make it. It probably wasn't a good idea for the great Cadvan of Lirigon to crash unconscious on the dancefloor here – at least…not in front of everyone.
He should go soon…if he could remember the way back. That was a point – how had he got here? Blast it doubly, he couldn't remember. It was very unusual for him to forget something…it was probably the alcohol…yes, too much drink. Bad. Very bad.
He should get another one.
Slowly, he slumped back on the sofa, the end of which he was perched on, right next to not one but two passionately kissing couples. He'd go in a minute. After the floor stopped spinning.
"Drink." The order, barked in a very familiar voice, was coupled with the vision of a new, full tankard waving before his eyes. He glanced up to find it was attached to a highly inebriated, dramatically swaying Maerad. She was sweaty and flustered from dancing, and looked totally gorgeous.
She brandished the tankard at him, almost spilling its contents, and he took it thankfully as she half sat, half fell into the gap on the sofa between him and the writhing tangle of the couple next to him. He noticed she had a glass of wine in her own hand and kept missing her mouth with it.
She was more drunk than he. It was probably the effect of all that dancing around tied with free drinks from lecherous young men that had done it. He should stay sober, to make sure she got back to wherever they were staying (that was another good point – where were they staying?) safely unmolested.
He glanced down at the ale, temptation in a tankard. He'd stop after this one. Maybe.
He downed half of it in one gulp.
"You were glowing," he said. Or tried to say. What came out instead was 'yaerelowing'.
But it was the language of the drunk, and right now Maerad was fluent in it. She eyed him over her glass (damn those eyes, Cadvan thought).
"On the – the – " He gestured helplessly to the stamping wildness nearby. "Floor where you dance. Dancefloor."
He took another gulp of ale.
"Oh!" She giggled, a little huskily. "Glowing. Was excited…"
He tried not to think about her being 'excited'.
"Right," he said foggily. His mind felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool.
"Yeah, dancing. Fun." She couldn't seem to muster up a complete sentence. "So I – wooooopsi…"
She had tried to grab another half full glass of wine on the table opposite them and had misjudged by several yards, so instead slid off the sofa to the floor in a rather graceless slump. Her glass of wine somehow managed to fly into the mass of copulation next to them and a shriek echoed from the tangle. Maerad giggled again, a little hysterically, and accepted Cadvan's help in getting to her feet again (which, to be truthful, was half helpful at best), whilst the couple parted to reveal a boy and girl, both flustered and red with wine and rage.
They flounced off with many a glare behind them, leaving Maerad giggling desperately and still clutching Cadvan's arm despite her being safely curled up on the sofa again.
"Think 'm drunk," she revealed decisively after a few seizures of giggles and hiccups.
"Agreed." Cadvan brandished her other glass of wine at her. "Drink. Helps."
She took the drink and fluttered her eyelashes at him over the top of it.
"Are you trying t' get me inib – ina – drunk, Cadvan of Lirigon?"
Light save me, he thought in a panic.
He deflected the question.
"More like them." He gestured over to where a group of handsome, young male Bards were glancing over in their direction – or her direction at least. He hoped. Although now he came to think about it, one of the prettier ones was staring at him…
Maerad snorted into her wine.
He took another draught of ale and avoided the pretty boy's leer.
"Boys. Right. Boys."
"Yes. Nothing. Erm."
"About Sham – Shim – the Nameless. Or the Dark, or Hulls, or hairy werries…"
"Yeah. Y'know. Grr." She bared her teeth and waggled her free hand in a claw-like manner.
"Yeah, them. Boys."
"Not like you."
He glanced quickly at her, but she was busy watching the other fornicating couple left on the sofa with a slightly unfocused gaze.
She is, he thought, extraordinarily beautiful when she is drunk.
Or when I'm drunk. Not sure anymore.
He raised the tankard to his lips.
"'Course they're bad kissers as well," Maerad decided.
Cadvan sprayed a mist of ale into the already sweat-soaked air, and stuttered whilst she giggled brightly at him.
"I – erm – um – who?"
"Camphis," she confessed cheerfully.
"Huh." He wondered if Silvia would frown on him if he went and started a fist fight with said boy in the middle of the floor. Probably wouldn't be so good for his reputation, he decided. The great Cadvan scratching some idiot youth's eyes out. He should just…curse him or something.
Yeah. Curse. It was besides the point that he couldn't remember any at the moment. Cursing was the way to go.
"Yeah. All slobbery."
Cadvan blinked at her, too wrapped up in thoughts of revenge to catch her meaning. She elaborated, waving her arms about wildly.
"Kissing. Slobbery. Tongue – " She waggled her own dramatically. "Tongue everywhere. Like – everywhere. Ick!"
He wasn't quite sure what to say to this.
"Oh. Um. Well. I won't kiss any then."
The joke came unbidden but she cracked up delightedly, sudden tears of laughter falling into her wine. Cadvan felt himself laugh also, a little giddily because her hand was clutching at his leg.
Just as abruptly, she stopped and gazed at him with drunk, unfocused eyes.
"Are you a good kisser, Cadvan?"
…! said his ale-clogged brain, and then followed up with a more coherent – waaaaaaaaaaaaah!
He stared down at her innocent expression, mouth open.
"Erm – " he managed, then elaborated with a truthful, "Don't know."
"Oh! Well, I can tell you!" She said it as if it were a light favour she could do him.
"Er. I. Um," he tried. Her hand was now perched dangerously high on his leg and it was stopping him from thinking properly. She caught his awkwardness and moved slightly away, letting go of his leg and causing a wave of both relief and disappointment.
"Doesn't matter. Don't have to if don't want to."
He could hear the slight hurt in her voice.
"No!" the alcohol in him protested too hastily. "I didn't mean – I – urm – "
She beamed at him and snuggled closer again just like a comforted child, her hand resuming its place on his leg.
"So kiss me then."
He felt himself redden. By the Light, Cadvan of – somewhere – you're acting like one of those hormonal boys…
"K – kiss…?" he croaked.
Maerad rolled her eyes, then swayed slightly because the action made her dizzy.
"Yes, Cadders. You kiss me, I tell you if its atray – atrop – bad. Geddit?"
"Don't call me Cadders," he said without thinking.
"Geddit?" she persevered.
"What?" She looked annoyed now.
"Only you're inebby – inibbi – drunk. And me. We might have rig – rib – bad thoughts tomorrow."
"Cadvan." She had finally snapped. "I don't care about tomorrow. I'm sick of tomorrow. Kiss me now."
Yes, he thought. No thinking about tomorrow. You do that enough. Think about the present for once…and Cadvan – do yourself a favour and forget tomorrow.
"Fine," he decided aloud, recklessly, abandoning caution to the four wine-soaked winds. "Your wish is my command."
He leaned closer to her face, flushed with drink and weariness and happiness, and she closed her eyes expectantly, her mouth in an exaggerated, pretty pout.
He moved closer – he was so close now that he could feel the tickle of her sweet, wine-drenched breath against his cheek and it caused electric ripples to shudder all the way down his spine. He moved his head sideways a little, ready to take her mouth with his own –
And then Maerad, when he was but millimetres away, let out a little moan and promptly collapsed into his lap in an impressive display of drunken unconsciousness.
There was a numb pause. Maerad's glass of wine slipped from her limp hand and rolled over the already drink-splattered floor. The thundering dance continued, ignoring them. And Cadvan, with a sigh, pursed his lips and kissed the air where Maerad's mouth had been just a moment before.
This, he decided grimly, was very bad indeed.
I hope you enjoyed! Yes, I did totally rip this out of 'The Mummy'…but hey! Tres amusant, non? If you liked, please review! I'll give you cookies…;)