[Rhy is doing the best he can with what he has - which isn't much, especially since he's used to living with servants. But his apartment, near the top of one of the spires, is clean and has enough room for a small party (though, granted, that's partly because he only arrived recently and hasn't had time to get it messy yet).
He's managed to find snacks and drinks, the snacks mainly strange things from the shops and interesting fruits, while the drinks are... well, some of them are alcoholic, stolen from the last party the gods threw for them. It's something. It'll have to be enough.
[Cal has probably already been to too many parties for one lifetime, but what the hell, right? It's a distraction and he feels like he should go. Besides, meeting people is good for him and god knows he hasn't done much of that. Before he'd been too angry and then when he came back too busy but better late than never, right?
He smiles when the door opens, almost tempted to laugh.]
That's a dangerous offer. Are you so sure we'll leave?
[One benefit of running the Guard is that one of their guardsmen, Rey, just so happens to own the Speakeasy and brew its drinks. So Henry shows up with one most definitely alcoholic bottle of drink, which he offers Rhy with a smirk.]
Here. No one has yet died from consuming the Speakeasy's offerings, so we ought to survive.
[It's a respite to have the squad after all the recent troubles in the Guard and the consequences that arose; he's determined to leave that ongoing misery behind for the night and have a good time.
Henry then nods at Cal in greeting. That distinctive fey androgyny can only mean one thing: another one of the Wraeththu.]
[He accepts the bottle with a smile. The more the better, in his opinion - that'll make the party fun, if it gets there at all. Which it will.]
Oh, I'm sure once everyone is hungover and thoroughly sick of me they'll leave on their own. Until then, we'll have a good time.
[Rhy goes to retrieve glasses.]
I managed to get some alcohol, but why don't we have this first? Those folks at the Speakeasy tend to have their heads on straight when it comes to drinks.
[Of course, he found it quickly after arrival. One must have somewhere to drink away one's sorrows.]
Have you one of those music boxes that came with the latest arrivals? Albeit I would not name the noise they played music. But perhaps well attended to [he nods at his refilled glass] we may discover some hidden appeal.
Hello, new friends! You're all invited to a party in my tiny yet charming apartment! Or, if you don't want to come, you can just tell me a fun story about yourself right here on these phones. I'm still learning! (*･▽･*)
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rhy
[Rhy is doing the best he can with what he has - which isn't much, especially since he's used to living with servants. But his apartment, near the top of one of the spires, is clean and has enough room for a small party (though, granted, that's partly because he only arrived recently and hasn't had time to get it messy yet).
He's managed to find snacks and drinks, the snacks mainly strange things from the shops and interesting fruits, while the drinks are... well, some of them are alcoholic, stolen from the last party the gods threw for them. It's something. It'll have to be enough.
He opens the door for his guests with a smile.]
Welcome! Make yourselves comfortable.
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He smiles when the door opens, almost tempted to laugh.]
That's a dangerous offer. Are you so sure we'll leave?
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Here. No one has yet died from consuming the Speakeasy's offerings, so we ought to survive.
[It's a respite to have the squad after all the recent troubles in the Guard and the consequences that arose; he's determined to leave that ongoing misery behind for the night and have a good time.
Henry then nods at Cal in greeting. That distinctive fey androgyny can only mean one thing: another one of the Wraeththu.]
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Oh, I'm sure once everyone is hungover and thoroughly sick of me they'll leave on their own. Until then, we'll have a good time.
[Rhy goes to retrieve glasses.]
I managed to get some alcohol, but why don't we have this first? Those folks at the Speakeasy tend to have their heads on straight when it comes to drinks.
[Of course, he found it quickly after arrival. One must have somewhere to drink away one's sorrows.]
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He also doesn't comment on "hungover." That would take quite a bit of this stuff and honestly, he'd be happy to avoid it in general.]
You sound rather confident that people will get sick of you. What does that say, I wonder?
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[Henry interjects dryly, in good humour, as he takes off his squad jacket.
Of course he wore it here. He wears it everywhere outside.]
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[He says it with more than a hint of amusement - clearly Rhy is joking, at least to some extent.]
But too much time with anyone can get tiring, don't you think? I agree, though. Drinks are entirely necessary.
[Opening the bottle, Rhy begins to pour drinks and pass out glasses.]
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I like how you think.
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To what do we toast?
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To the whims of fate that brought us here, and to new friends.
[A smile.]
Yes?
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[With the toast made, Henry tips his drink back.
Perhaps he ought to bring more than a single offering, next time.]
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Are you musically inclined at all? I do miss hearing music.
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Unfortunately, no. I had...other things to be worried about. I'm sure there must be a way to remedy that regardless.
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[Henry sets his free hand on his hip.]
Have you one of those music boxes that came with the latest arrivals? Albeit I would not name the noise they played music. But perhaps well attended to [he nods at his refilled glass] we may discover some hidden appeal.
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[He retrieves it, a small brightly-colored CD player and one of those awful CDs.]
Maybe one of you knows how to use it?
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Does it have batteries or do we need to plug it in? Or do you know?
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Naught of that made sense to me, so I shall leave you both to it.
[He nurses his drink as he observes, mystified.]
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[He smiles, rather amused by all of it. Better to take these things in stride, right?]
I think we'll both have to leave this in your capable hands.
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[he might as well be saying get on with it.]
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[He seems rather cheery about the possibility, in fact.]
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Though I have seen monks draw worse.
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I'm afraid I'm not much of an artist, even with materials I understand.
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Nor I. So let us have a contest of skill.
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Though, tell me, have you any skill at arms or wrestling? A true contest would not go amiss.
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You name it, and I will best you.
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Likely not swordplay, though. We can try that.
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