lesamisdodw | Drinking Party At 'Ferre's

Drinking Party At 'Ferre's

Who: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Bossuet - the Amis not lost in Africa (Joly, Jehan, you wanna come play too? -- no idea about Marius/Feuilly?)
Where: Combeferre's apartment.
Notes: Amis converge on 'Ferre's apartment for a night of drinking before they get serious about going after Enjolras and Grantaire who are currently, to their best knowledge, marooned somewhere in the middle of nowhere in Africa and very possibly in danger.

Status: ONGOING!

--

Combeferre had a little time before his friends came over, and decided to fill up the fridge a bit. He had been emptying it, part because he didn't want to leave anything perishable for when he was out of the country, and part from a lack of desire to trudge through the grocery store.

He picked up snacks and another six pack at the store, trusting that Bahorel and Courfeyrac at least would bulk up the booze supply, then, on the way back, stopped at the bookstore for some crash courses in Swahili. Maybe it wouldn't help, but it couldn't hurt -- better a chance of the locals speaking that than English or French, anyway.

Combeferre couldn't help worrying. Eight days now, with no word from Enjolras or Grantaire. He was still utterly and completely certain that Enjolras couldn't be dead, and he was less certain that Grantaire was stubbornly stuck to his side -- like, Courfeyrac had said, a barnacle. It was an apt description, anyway. He didn't expect, not really, that he and the others could just fly into Nigeria and take a powerboat down the river and find Enjolras and Grantaire huddled alone in a makeshift hut, ready and waiting to be rescued. No. If he knew Enjolras at all, his friends certainly weren't going to be waiting at the crash site--wherever it might be. He knew they'd have to find the crashed remains of the plane and ascertain a trail before they had any hope of finding Enjolras. And God knows how long that could take. Still, he wasn't despondent and he would hold out hope.

But what he shouldn't be doing, and he knew it, was worry himself to death. So he ruthlessly cleaned out the rest of the things in the living room. He piled the unsorted boxes in Enjolras' bedroom -- he considered it small payment for the worry and fuss his friend had been putting him through -- and tossed out all the old takeout remains from the past week. He figured it was clean enough for his friends, and loaded up the first Rosetta Stone disc while he waited for the others to arrive, or text him for directions.

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"Definitely." Courfeyrac takes the shot and downs it quickly before holding it out to Bahorel for a refill.

There are several reasons he doesn't want to think about Enjolras and porn. Drinking is definitely the better option.

"So. Trivial Pursuit then, or do people have another preference?" Trivial Pursuit might make Combeferre feel better, at least. And if they all just take a shot whenever Combeferre gets something right they'll be singing karaoke in no time.

Well, there goes hit mental image. Better this way.

"Trivial Pursuit is good. And you all can drink whenever I get asked my worst category! As I invariably will."

The Trivial Pursuit pieces were still all over the floor, so Combeferre downs the beer in his hand and starts collecting pieces. Very, very methodically. Possibly the beer -- which he's drunk rather more quickly than he's used to -- is getting to him.

Eventually he makes his way back into the living room with the Trivial Pursuit board. Inside the box is the cards, the game board, all the pie/pieces, along with -- unintentionally -- most of the Monopoly and Battleship pieces, and the Sorry! cards. He doesn't notice the extra pieces.

He plunks down the box in front of them, and opens another beer.

Bahorel notices the pieces.

He thinks it's the funniest thing he's ever seen, for some reason.

He manages (barely) to swallow down his fifth shot, and starts laughing really hard. He leans back away from his shot-pouring station as he cracks up, maintaining enough presence of mind not to shift towards it and knock everything over.

Courfeyrac looks between Bahorel and the box full of multiple puzzle pieces. Pouring himself another shot, he sorts through the pieces with one finger. "Can I be the battleship? I can try to balance the little pie pieces on the ship, and then they can cruise around the game board. Assuming I actually collect any little pie pieces."

"I thought we were playing Trivial Pursuit. There's no battleship in Trivial Pursuit."

He opened another beer: was this his fourth, or his fifth? Did he already lose count? No, it was definitely fifth. Oops.

"We can play Battleship instead if you'd like that better."

Courfeyrac holds up the battleship with a pink pie piece balanced on it. "This version of Trivial Pursuit apparently comes with battleships as optional game pieces."

Courfeyrac laughs before taking another shot.

"Or you put them in your wheel when you win the questions." Bahorel suggests, still chuckling. He picks up one of the Trivial Pursuit pieces and attempts to place Monopoly tokens (and smaller battleships) into it's wedge-shaped spaces.
"So many options, man." He hands Combeferre the little monstrosity, and slaps him lightly on the shoulder. "Think carefully."

Then he climbs to his feet and wanders over the fridge to select a new type of alcohol to indulge in.

(And Courfeyrac has to head to bed again in order to work tomorrow. Sorry, guys.)

(And Bahorel joins Courfeyrac ;) See you tomorrow.)

"I always do," Combeferre mutters, and gazes at the pie with battleship slices.

For about five minutes.

"I guess we can play with whatever pieces we want," he says, and reaches into the box, coming out with the car and the horseman from Monopoly. "Wonder how these all got in here."

Absently, he reached for another drink from his beer.

"I think you put them in there." Courfeyrac places his battleship with the carefully balanced pie piece down on the board and pushes it gently, making it cruise across spaces. "I think you maybe have a low alcohol tolerance."

Courfeyrac's definitely starting to feel the effects of how many shots he's taken in rapid succession, too. While it's definitely entertaining when Nerium decides that his battleship is a cool toy, it probably shouldn't make him giggle. And it really shouldn't be as hard as it is to catch the little monster-cat after he pounces first on the board and then in the box, scattering pieces that Combeferre had worked very hard to gather together.

Lunging for the kitten, Courfeyrac ends up face-down on the floor, only a few white furs on his fingertips to say he was at least close. Laughing, he rolls over and looks up at his friends. "It might be getting close to karaoke time. A few rounds of the game, and then we'll have to sing before I can't read anymore and Bahorel can't spell anymore."

"You're assuming I knew how to spell in the first place." Bahorel laughs, coming back from the kitchen with a tall glass of rum.

Getting his pirate on. Yar.
He suddenly misses those movies. Silly, but epic. With lots of action.
He wonders vaguely if he's been a pirate in one of his myriad past lives. Man, that would've been awesome. If he was, there might even be books written about him somewhere. He would've been infamous-level, for sure.

He takes a swig from his glass, and sits down next to the gameboard. Idly playing with one of the battleships, he stares at the board, not really looking at it.

He'd probably look damn good in an eyepatch.

"Why does Bahorel need to spell? You don't need to write anything for Trivial Pursuit. Or Monopoly. Or Battleship."

'Ferre's head hurts. His friends are being confusing.

"We should pick up these pieces before Nerium eats them. I don't know if kittens eat things but I'm definitely certain that if he eats them, they will be bad for him."

'Ferre watches Bahorel drink the rum, though, instead of immediately moving to pick up the mess. Something tells him his fine motor skills are leaving him. Couldn't imagine what, though, as he slowly finishes off the beer in his hand.

"Yeah, bringing Grantaire home to a thousand dollar vet bill 'cause his kitten ate a battleship would probably be bad." Courfeyrac sits up slowly and studies the game pieces before carefully, meticulously placing them all back into the box. "And I guess no one needs to spell. We promised not to let him do any drunk blogging, no matter how funny."

Courfeyrac glances over at Bahorel, currently indulging in something other than tequila and looking very deep in thought. "What're you contemplating so deeply? I don't believe you're drunk enough to be getting phiso--philosophical yet. Not when I can still string five-syllable words together."

"I was a pirate." He's sure of it now. It just makes so much sense.

He takes another swallow of his rum. Still spacing out while looking at the board.

"I should find the book about me."

With this decided he looks up at the others. "So. What're we doing again? You guys aren't playing yet."

"A pirate. What was your pirate name?" Combeferre furrows his brow. "I wasn't a pirate. I was a doctor. And... something." He finishes the beer and slams it down on the table, misjudging the distance via blurred depth perception. "Oops. Can I have some of that? I've never had rum. Or if I did, not by itself."

Combeferre scratches his head thoughtfully. "I dunno. What do you wanna play? I'll kick your ass at Trivial Pursuit, you know that. Maybe something that relies more on luck would be fairer to the rest of us."

He reaches for the beer bottle, and goes to take a drink before noticing that it's empty. Staring forlornly with one eye at the lonely drop of beer at the bottom, he keeps talking. "Did you know that the game Battleship has been around since before World War I? When people used to play it with pencil and grid paper? I'm sure it was just as fun back then. People call it by lots of other names, or at least they used to, names like Broadsides or Battleboats or Warfare Naval Combat. There's like 60 alternate names in different languages that all kinda just mean Battleship. I think that's kinda funny, don't you? I want another beer."

"Warfare Naval Combat. I like it. It's a mouthful of a name, and you don't get long game names all that often. I think we should play that, if four people can play it."

Combeferre wants to try rum. And he wants another beer. Courfeyrac can manage that. Grabbing another beer out of the fridge, he frowns at the bottles. Did they get more rum? He's not sure. Oh, well. At least he knows where one bottle is.

Walking back over to Bahorel, he leans against his arm and pulls on the rum bottle. The first time he reaches for the rum with the hand that already has the beer bottle in it. That doesn't work so well, and he carefully transfers the beer to his other hand before reaching for the rum, leaning more heavily against Bahorel as he does. "Combeferre wants that, so we're pillaging it, my bonny pirate."

Was he ever a pirate? Maybe. He's not sure, and he really doesn't want to start searching for memories right now.

"I don't think 'bonny' is a good pirate word." Bahorel protests with a frown. He holds the rum out away from Courfeyrac. "It sounds like a girly hat."

"Stop grabbing, 'Fey. You don't pillage from pirates, they pillage from you." He shoulders him gently (he thinks) out of the way. "I can pour 'Ferre some rum."

He grabs a new cup, and pours some rum into it, mostly succeeding in getting it in the glass. Then he hands the cup of liquid out to Combeferre. "Here ya go."

"I don't know my pirate name. But I definitely was one."
He plops back down by his own cup, and rescues another game piece from Nerium. "Stop it, fuzz."

The world is getting a little fuzzy. He's had a good bit of alcohol. He's not drunk to incapi.... incapata.... not being able to do stuff yet. But he's had a good bit.
He sips some more rum.

Nerium meows threateningly at Bahorel and then runs into Combeferre's leg.

"Rum." He drinks it, and it burns going down. Blinking fiercely a few times, he decides he likes the burn. "S'good."

Then he reaches down and picks up the kitten by the scruff of its neck. Nerium meows again and starts kneading Combeferre's lap. The damned kitten seems to like him better than Bahorel and Courfeyrac, which is fine with him as here on his lap Nerium won't be eating any battleships.

"Fifteen men on--onna dead man's chest," intones 'Ferre right before another gulp of the rum. Which sets him to coughing.

"Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!" Courfeyrac grins, raising the beer in toast as he straightens back up following Bahorel's push. "I think I need a glass of that, too, if we're all going to be pirates. Pirate karaoke time!"

He tries to think of pirate songs. Combeferre already stole the literary one. That's all right. He can be non-literate.

Wait. That's not quite the right wording.

Ah, well. Leaning against Bahorel again, since he's the closest one, more on guard for sudden violence, Courfeyrac starts the song. "Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate's life for us!"

"No games then? Time to sing." Bahorel tosses the little plastic ship back into the Trivial Pursuit box.
"Where's the music? Or are we doing oc.... um... just voices."

He takes another swig of rum, and picks up the line after Courfeyrac. Why he can't remember certain words, but he can remember the pirate song, he doesn't know.

"We pillage, we plunder we rifle and loot. Drink up me hearties, yo ho!"

Oh. Maybe that's why.

"Um... da da da da.. something. I don't know the words. I was never a pirate." He notices an unopened beer in front of him. "I thought I finished my beer."

"I've never been any good at singing."

Now Combeferre has his glass of rum in his left hand, a beer in his right, and a purring kitten in his lap. He's really not sure what to do now.

"You don't need to be good at singing." Courfeyrac tries to move over to Combeferre and stumbles. Why does gravity not seem to like him recently? He doesn't think he's done anything to annoy her. "It's the spirit of the thing. Just find a song that you like and sing it! It doesn't even have to be a pirate song. Though there're probably more pirate songs you know."

He thinks there was something about being close to Combeferre that he was supposed to be remembering. Not getting too close? Was that it? Maybe. Since he brought him the beer, though, it's probably all right to stay just a little close.

Settling down on the floor, because standing's too much work, he rests his head on the couch by Combeferre's leg and reaches out to pet the kitten. "How about this one? 'Oh, better far to live and die under the brave black flag we fly than play a sancti-ti..monius part with a pirate head and a pirate heart!"

Is it all right for them to be pirates? He supposes some of the pirates had legitimate reasons for doing what they were doing--reasons other than greed. And Enjolras would look awesome standing on a ship, with the wind and the waves and the rest of them behind him, ready to pillage in the name of justice and equality. Like a Robin Hood pirate.

"Or if you don't want to sing like a pirate, that's okay too." Bahorel offers, "you wouldn't have been a pirate anyway. Sing something closer to you. Like..." He waves his glass around, at a loss, "A song about books? Do they have songs about books? There's gotta be some geek songs out there."

He finishes off his glass of rum, and with a grin, plops down on the floor, on the other side of Combeferre, mirroring Courfeyrac. The alochol is definitely getting to him now. It feels good.

It's a little weird to pet the kitten while it's in 'Ferre's lap. But the little guy is soft and fluffy. Let 'Ferre protest if it bothers him.

After a moment he realizes he's quietly singing Indestructible by Disturbed. Given how fast-paced the song is, he's really quite impressed that he's getting all the words right. He thinks.

Fucking awesome song.

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