🐕after beo cut off his wine rip
🐕 Rest their head on my muse’s shoulder/knee
“I think that’s enough for ya, pretty boy,” Beowolf mutters, snatching the cup out of the stranger’s hand and placing it firmly to the side.
He’s not a stranger, not really–he hasn’t been living under a rock, he knows who Eldigan of Nordion is–but they’re strangers to one another, and Beowolf has no idea why he’s here. Sure, this bar isn’t as much of a shithole as some of the other places he’s been to…but it’s still a pretty seedy-looking place, as bars tend to be. And a guy like that? Dressed down, but still noticeably nicer than anyone around him, getting tipsy off his first glass of wine?
He’ll get eaten alive here. And it’s not any of Beowolf’s business–he has as much reason to like nobles as the next peasant–but the guy’s sitting right next to him, and his head is drooping lower and lower towards the wooden counter, and some of the other guys in here are looking at him in…worrying ways. For his money, or his body, or because they got beef with the ruling house here–it doesn’t matter. What matters is that if Beowolf leaves well enough alone, like he should, then good ol’ mister lightweight over there’s gonna get taken advantage of, in one way or another.
It’d be nice to have a noble owing him something, he tells himself, as he bats away Eldigan’s weak protests and weaker attempts at retrieving his drink. It’ll be nice to have the lord of House Nordion of all people in his debt, he says to himself, as he downs the rest of the wine in one go.
His newest not-drinking-anymore companion raises his head and blinks owlishly at him, apparently too out of it to form the words to ask where his alcohol is. Or maybe he’s just confused about who the fuck Beowolf thinks he is. Beowolf snaps his fingers in front of Eldigan’s face, waves a hand in front of his eyes–but Eldigan just ignores him, eyelids dropping low again as he lists unsteadily to the side.
“Hey, now,” he starts, but before he can get any further, a blond head plops firmly onto his shoulder. “Damn it, don’t fall asleep on me now. Ya gotta get your ass outta here before anyone starts gettin’ ideas, ya hear?”
No response. Just a sigh, like the weight of the world is on the guy’s shoulders, and the turn of his head away from the dim light around them. It’s a good thing he isn’t wearing his full armour right now–a pauldron wouldn’t make a very good pillow, he’s sure–but that doesn’t mean his shoulder’s a free pillow for every drunken nobleman to bury his face into.
“Real piece of work, ain’tcha?” he says to no one in particular, heaving a sigh of his own as he considers the fastest way to get the fancypants knight out of this joint without being accosted on the way. “I’m sure we’ll be the greatest of friends. Now c’mon, stand up. I ain’t carryin’ ya outta here like some swaddlin’ babe. Up and at ‘em, sunshine. This is for your own good.”
As he hoists an arm over his shoulder, practically dragging Eldigan through the inebriated crowd, he wonders what such an honourable, upstanding knight will think about waking up in a stranger’s room the next morning. Not that he would ever do anything like that. But you never know with these noble types. Maybe he’ll faint from the scandal. Maybe he’ll try to stab Beowolf for treason, or arrest him for gross indecency, or any of the other various crimes against propriety Beowolf has committed and cheerfully continues to commit.
Not for the first time, he wonders if this was all really worth the trouble. But they’re here now, and he just hopes to the gods that dear ol’ Eldie-babe won’t vomit all over his clothes.
“Go the fuck to sleep,” he says, dumping Eldigan unceremoniously onto his rented bed. “You’ll need it for when I make fun of you in the morn. Seriously, one cup? Not even? I thought you Nordions lived off wine!”
Eldigan murmurs something incomprehensible, but he’s already curling up like a child, uncaring (or most likely unaware) of the wrinkles he’s getting in the fancy clothes that probably cost more than this entire room. Beowolf stares at him for a moment longer, taking a moment to verify that yes, this really is his life–and then he swipes the blanket right off the bed, laying it out on the floor for him to sleep on.
Eldigan really owes him one, after all this. And he’s gonna make sure he gets paid in full.
