Going Out

[Vaughn]

Continued from here.

It wasn't long before someone followed and Vaughn looked up. Damon, of course. He was perhaps the only one at the party Vaughn knew just well enough to hang with, without facing awkward small-talk or family fuckups. From what he knew of the man he was sort of like Vaughn himself. Though admittedly Vaughn didn't rely much on drink or drugs to get him through his shit. He relied mostly on anger.

He couldn't tell if that was better or worse.

As Damon settled into the grass Vaughn propped up on his elbows. He still felt sort of hot, like the frustration inside him was trapped and needed out, but with children at the party he couldn't make a scene like he wanted to. Though he sometimes wondered if he was getting angrier by the trial, he still had it in him not to want to scare children.

Damon had sat beside him in the grass and now brought out a familiar pouch. He had offered at the table, and now that they were away from the others Vaughn saw absolutely no reason not to. He watched as the younger man expertly brought out reevi and tobacco and rolled them together with paper and a little spit. He indicated Damon should have the first draw and then took the joint after.

At first Vaughn took only a small toke, acclimating. The smoke was warm in his mouth and lungs and he held it in, resisting the urge to cough. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a smoke like this. Probably with Damon, he thought with some amusement. His throat already felt dry. He blew the smoke slowly out towards the sky.

"Thanks," he said on the exhale, voice a little rough, and passed it back. He had promised himself before not to drink on an empty stomach, and the drug would only make him feel all the more hungry (and thirsty), but now he desperately wanted something to wet his mouth. Water, he thought with a bit of humor. An ale or two or three.

He sat up, still slouching somewhat, and waved a hand at the rest of the crowd who were no doubt having their mundane little conversations at the big table, dancing around every sore subject. "Your sister and her, uh... knight." He wasn't sure if they were engaged or not. "You need to stay for them?"

[Damon Andaris]

Damon waited silently with the unlit joint as Vaughn pushed himself up. It was like he was a child again, rolling in the grass, but Damon supposed that being around his father, especially as difficult as Malcolm was, would make anyone regress. Damon pulled out his matches, and striking one, lit the joint, letting the reevi hit his lungs. He took a long drag, feeling it fill him up, seep into his skin and relaxing him. He took another, shorter puff, before passing it over to Vaughn.

"Can't remember if you've done this before," Damon said, watching Vaughn smoke, "but make sure to inhale the smoke into your lungs, not just your sinuses. And wait a few moments before releasing." Damon had no issues with sharing his reevi, but there were few things that bothered him as much as wasting that precious drug on people who could barely smoke it right. Sure, it was a learning curve, but Damon paid good money for that shit.

"No worries," he murmured, taking another hit of the drug. A lazy, relaxed smile spread across his face, feeling like he was sinking into the grass with every hit. This feeling was why he kept coming back to the reevi. Perhaps it was an addiction, but fuck, it was worth it.

Damon was content to sit and smoke with Vaughn, who clearly needed some time away from the group. He wasn't going to pry or make him talk about his feelings. Even if he did, he doubted Vaughn would even open up to him. There was too much history there, too much tension over Lorena, and he longed to tell Vaughn his love was back. Alive. Never really dead. He was wondering what to say when Vaughn interrupted his reverie.

"Hmm?" The words took a few moments to penetrate the haze, before he realised what Vaughn was insinuating. "No, I don't. They're good at pretending I'm not here." Damon cast a sour glance over to his sister and Zed, both of whom seemed much happier now that Damon was not near them. "Why," he asked, turning to Vaughn, "You want to get out of here?"

In fact, now that he said it, it seemed rapidly a better and better idea. He could see Malcolm standing up to make an announcement, and irritation pricked at his skin. This was not his kind of thing at all. "Want to go grab an ale or two? This is pretty dull, and you look like you could stand to get away." He took another hit, offering the joint to Vaughn, waiting to hear what the plan was. Vaughn was the upset one. Damon would do whatever Vaughn wanted to do - as long as it did not involve staying here.

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[Vaughn]

"I did a while back," Vaughn said, coughing somewhat as he answered Damon's question. The Andaris had already seemed to loosen and stretch on the high of the first couple of puffs, and Vaughn, not feeling it as strongly, reached out to take another, longer toke. He made sure to suck the smoke in and bury it deep in his lungs. Holding it there as long as he could stand to.

The next time he exhaled, the stress, bit by bit, seemed to go with it up to the stars. He was still angry and yet that anger was further back. He sat up completely now, feeling his head start to buzz, and smiled like a wolf.

This was what he wanted.

"They're good at pretending I'm not here," Damon said of his family, and at that the older man nodded, looking over to where Malcolm had stood and seemed to have finished speaking to the table at large.

"I know the feeling." Malcolm ignored him no matter what he did. Vaughn had learned that early on as a boy, after Marcus had proven himself to be the better son. Soon after that he had given up trying to please anyone and taken up trying to piss them off instead. It had worked to some extent. But perhaps in the end it had worked all too well; his father seemed rather jaded by his antics now.

Probably that was just how it was for everyone after they had grown up.

To the offer of ale, and even better a getaway, he showed his teeth and said, "You read my mind." With a fluid motion Vaughn stood, offering a hand to help Damon up should he want it. He felt the high of the reevi settle into him more with each passing moment, just as the taste of the tobacco had painted his tongue a fragrant, smoky, bittersweet flavor.

It tasted like how his frustration felt, and that he found infinitely interesting. Smoking was like sampling anger, taking that fire inside him and holding it, but it was an anger not his own. It was freeing. He felt like he had control even as the smoke tried to choke him.

He looked to Damon. "I've got to get me some of these," indicating the joint. A tilt of the head. "Let's go. There's gotta be a tavern nearby."

[Malcolm]

Malcolm had quietly excused himself from the table, and crossed the garden to where his son and the Andaris boy stood. The look he gave Vaughn was nothing out of the norm, though his usual disappointment took less effort, a permanent crease in his brow, like the smile lines either side of his mouth, was easier to conjure now than it once was.
He wanted to point out how rude the two of them had been to get up and wander off like they had, but he suspected they already knew, both were used to other people doing everything for them, and taking advantage of that. Instead, Malcolm reached out and took what was left of the joint, crushed the end between finger and thumb to suffocate the burning matter within, and shifted to hold his hands behind his back, military through and through.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” he told them, sure this would come as a surprise to Vaughn. “It was good to see you both, I’m sorry you won't get to taste the venison." Yes, he had noticed they were on their way out.
“You know you're welcome here any time,” Malcolm said, staring across at Vaughn. He reached out again, opened his son’s hand and dropped the joint into his open palm. “There's an extra bed if you need one later.” the warden glanced at Damon, as if to suggest that went for both of them.

[Damon Andaris]

Vaughn knew the feeling. Of course he did. Damon shot another glance over to the table, where Malcolm stood holding the attention of the group. He looked so comfortable there, the knight with his posture and his family surrounding him. Elyna his - wife? Paramour? Damon didn't know - and their baby girl. A picture perfect family. But where did Vaughn fit in? Maybe nowhere. Damon knew the feeling; his mother exasperated, his father coked out, and his siblings all much more successful. And yet he was the eldest. Vaughn had been usurped by a sibling; Damon had been usurped by three.

Damon took the hand Vaughn offered, admiring how fluidly the other man moved. He nodded, began walking back to the house with him. "I can show you where to get some, if you like. Or other things. Heaps of fun stuff out there to try." He fell into step besides Vaughn. "I don't know any, but surely there'd be some in the main town. As long as there's ale and we can get drunk, I'm good with anywhere."

He was happy enough to slip by the main table and make his way out. Rude, perhaps, that he should not thank his hosts for their hospitality, but right now, Vaughn was his priority. A lot of his anger seemed to come from the family at the table, and so he wanted to avoid that. Besides, the look his sister would give him would ruin his mood, moreso than it already was ruined. But then, on strong legs, Malcolm strode over, sending a gaze that Damon recognised from his mother toward his son.

He halted, not knowing what to do. He couldn't very well tell Malcolm to fuck off now, could he? Damon was about to say something, but then Malcolm plucked the joint from his hands, crushing the flame in two fingers. He wanted to protest - didn't Malcolm know he had spent good money on that? Drugs did not grow on trees - but then Malcolm thanked him for coming. He sent a side glance to Vaughn, wondering how he would react, before deciding it would be better for him to mediate father and son.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid," he said, jovially, smiling tensely. "Thanks for having me, though. My sister enjoys these events." And I hate them was left unsaid. "I'll probably just crash at an inn, but thanks for the offer," he said, nodding in thanks. Damon waited for Vaughn to respond to his father before continuing on his path out, raising a hand toward the table but not bothering to say goodbye.

It was only when they were out of the house that he spoke again. "What an asshole," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Doesn't he know those things cost money?" He sighed, looking around. "Whatever. I've got more. Which way to the tavern? I could do with a shit ton of drinks and some fights." It didn't occur to him that Vaughn might be uncomfortable with that.

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[Vaughn]

They were about to leave when Vaughn's father approached, and of course the old man wouldn't let them go in peace. Vaughn's mouth tightened when Malcolm gave him that look and took the joint from Damon's hand, putting it out between his fingers. But Damon shot a quelling glance over at him before he could speak. Apparently trying to smooth over the matter.

His father's words seemed guarded, and Vaughn struggled to echo that cool. He could feel his face heating up again, whether in embarrassment that Malcolm had stopped them or in frustration once more he wasn't sure, though true to character it was more likely the latter. He wanted to bite some remark out to his father, some terrible thing that would wound the man the way Vaughn himself had been hurt ever since Malcolm had abandoned Vaughn's mother. Maybe that he would rather sleep in the gutter than under his father's roof. But he managed to contain himself.

Instead he grunted out, "Thanks. I'll consider it," and with that took the offered joint and swept past.

It was only when they were outside the front door and back on the street that Vaughn remembered that he'd meant to do something. Kicking himself he said, "Just a minute," and then walked back inside.

He went through the house until he found his father's study, so extremely like the ones he remembered in their Burhan manor and in Malcolm and Vanessa's home in Andaris that there was almost a sense of deja vu. Vaughn went to the desk and drew out a piece of paper and ink, scribbling a quick note, and then went back to the party and, not speaking to anyone else, handed the piece of paper politely to Lei'lira. The young woman had offered for him to stud his stallion Malcolm's Pride with one of her mares, and so he thought, if she wanted, they could meet up at the stables tomorrow in the afternoon. That was what the note read.

Thus delivered, Vaughn made a second hasty exit, catching once more up to the dragon outside.

"Done," he said. "Forgot to give someone something. All good now." Damon quickly picked up the conversation, and Vaughn winced at the other man's words. "Yeah, he knows the cost," he said, referring to Malcolm having crushed Damon's reevi, "But I doubt he cares." He looked around as he spoke, still confused a bit about the layout of the city after having been back only a couple trials. He had never liked this place. He had always spent as little time in Andaris as possible.

At Damon's mention of drinks and a fight Vaughn gave the younger man a real smile, a sharp toothy sort of grin. He clapped the other on the shoulder in a warm gesture Damon would find familiar. "Lowtown then," Vaughn said. "They'll fight nasty there. 'Specially if we let drop we're a couple of nobles." He looked like the word tasted bad in his mouth. "This way, I think?"

Soon enough they had wound their way through the city from midtown to low. There were a variety of taverns to choose from and Vaughn went with the Blacksmith Arms. Damon had said he wanted a fight. A fight they would get at the Arms. That's just how the people were there. Vaughn knew that at least.

[Damon Andaris]

Damon cautiously inclined his head while he waited out the front for Vaughn to come back out. A part of him was worried Vaughn was going to go in and do some irreparable damage to his family, perhaps scream at Elyna and punch Malcolm, but no noise came. He waited a few bits, and contemplated rolling a second joint, but then decided against it. Vaughn was new to the sensation; he probably would not be able to handle as much as Damon could. Later, then. He was whistling tunelessly to himself when Vaughn came back out, and seamlessly began walking again. He thought about asking what he had done, but decided better of it. Better to leave the evening behind and enjoy the night ahead.

Damon nodded easily at the suggestion of the Lowtown. "You know, no one really knows or cares what we look like. We'd have to tell them directly we're nobles for them to get pissed off about it. I tend to go incognito and just punch people for the sake of it." He knew he was coming off incredibly immature, but he didn't care. He was already excited for the pain of the fight, and the rush of adrenalin. He could feel his lightning scar itching with excitement.

When they made it to the Lowtown, Damon realised where Vaughn was leading him, and laughed aloud. "I've been here before," he said, grinning, stroking his mark of Palenon. "Met Ilaren here. She told me she liked me after I punched a dickhead out." Let the other guy win, she'd said. Maybe tonight he'd let Vaughn win. It seemed like he really need it. "Let's go in," he said.

Damon went into the warmth and noise of the tavern. There was carousing and dancing, laughter in every corner, and ale flowing aplenty. He moved through the throng of people easily, already itching to get drinking. Approaching the bar, he signalled for two pints of ales, throwing down some nels before Vaughn could pay for them. Raising his drink, he toasted. "To Ilaren!" he cried. "The greatest woman of all time!" Swigging down a large gulp of beer, he laughed, wiping off the back of his mouth. It was strange how his emotions raised so quickly, but alcohol, bars, and liveliness took his mind off the anxiety that thrummed constantly in his mind.

Damon's eyes scanned the rest of the room. There were pretty men and women aplenty, but in his tipsy and high state, he could admit to himself none were as pretty as Vaughn. But he had Lorena. The silly not-dead Lorena. Pah. Taking another long sip of the drink, Damon stepped closer to Vaughn, his hip pressing against the other man's. "See anything you like?" He meant both people to kiss and people to fight. Or both at once, really. Damon would offer himself up for both. Both is good.

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[Vaughn]

"Punching for the sake of it," Vaughn said, and laughed when Damon did, raising his eyebrows at the mention of Ilaren. "You met an immortal?" he asked, and then almost unconsciously pressed a hand flat to his chest. The mark of Chrien thrummed under his touch. Like Damon, who indicated a strange mark on his hand and seemed to ride the high of the reevi and the anticipation of a fight, Vaughn felt the mark on his chest give an odd buzzing sensation, perhaps the phsyical embodiment of a purr.

It seemed Chrien liked fighting as well. Probably had something to do with blood spilt. Cautiously, Vaughn inclined his head and dedicated whatever trouble they would get into this night to Her.

Then he and Damon went inside the bar.

The tavern was livelier than he remembered, though he couldn't for the life of him recall when he'd last been. Probably arcs ago when he had been working that fishing boat outside of Krome. He'd come to Andaris every so often to visit his parents and have a layover. And a good lay.

It seemed the same thing was on the Andaris' mind as they pulled up to the counter and got their first round of drinks. Vaughn toasted Ilaren and took a long draught, feeling his belly warm and his face grow flushed. He shook his head and then, when Damon stepped close, draped an arm around the other man's neck, standing side by side as he and the other surveyed the room.

There were plenty of pretty girls but Vaughn, at least for the moment, wasn't interested in them. His eyes, gone green flecked with bits of grey and gold, flicked back and forth. Past the small group who looked to be deep in discussion, barely touching their drinks. Past the totally incomprehensibly drunk regulars that lay with their heads propped up on the bar. That wouldn't be fun nor would it be fair.

His eyes settled on two possible targets. A group of men who seemed to be betting on cards and another group, mixed men and women, who were clapping along and banging their fists and singing to the music.

"Eeny meeny," he said, and pointed to the men with cards, an obvious choice. "Moe. Wanna join them?"

Should Damon agree, Vaughn would twist his arm off Damon's shoulders and then, seeming to think for a moment, lean back and chug the rest of his drink.

When he next came up for air he slammed the mug on the bar counter and said with a dimpled smile, "I've got the next round. Bartender?" He inclined his head towards the table of men. "Another round. Over there." Then, should Damon be willing, he'd make his way towards the table, drag a chair over, and sit himself down.

"Let's bet," he said cheekily as the men turned to look at him, talking askance to Damon and ignoring the others' dark looks at having been interrupted. "I bet that one wins the hand," he said, pointing to one of the men at random, "And that one wins the night." Pointing to one of the others. Then, to the one with the biggest pile of gold, "And I bet that one fucks the others' wives. Maybe all of 'em at once, am I right?"

It went deadly quiet at the table and Vaughn said, sticking his tongue between his teeth, "What? Come on guys, don't let me stop ya." He motioned at the cards. "Pretend we're not here. Go on. Carry on."

[Damon Andaris]

"Yeah," he said, nodding, scanning the room. "I met Ilaren. It was awesome. She was awesome. I got drunk, got in a barfight, pummelled the shit out of some dickhead from school. And then got chucked out the bar." He chucked to himself, remembering the night. It was odd that he loved the memory of being kicked out of a bar so much, but he did - it was worth it. "She was just standing out in the shadows, and then we flirted a bit. Well," Damon trailed off, thinking. "I think it was flirting. At least I was flirting." Damon scowled at the thought of Tristan Venora again, a man who had gotten to bed Ilaren, but he shook the thought away. No use being jealous.

Damon flushed, shooting a grin to Vaughn as the other man draped his strong arm around him. A part of Damon knew it didn't mean anything - he was pretty sure Vaughn wasn't into guys, and then there was the question of Lorena - but still, Damon couldn't help but lean into Vaughn's chest a little, enjoying the warmth. If Vaughn had been the one to sling his arm around Damon, it was likely he wouldn't balk at a little extra contact. And it had been a while since Damon had been intimate with a man. It was enough to just be close to one.

Damon chuckled, nodding his head as he looked at the men that Vaughn pointed out. "Perfect," Damon said, nodding. "Gamblers are always angry. Mainly because they always lose their nels." He could feel the itch of his lightning, jonesing for a fight. "Cheers," Damon grinned, chugging the rest of the drink, thanking Vaughn for the next round. Easily, he followed the other man over to the group.

Damon chose not to sit like Vaughn, instead looming over the table, intimidating the men there. Calling on Ilaren, he felt for the power of his mark, sending his emotions out over the crowd. Everyone there, through his mark, would feel themselves overtaken in the same mood Damon was - cheeky, itching for a fight.

"I'll take that bet, Vaughn," he said, cheerily, winking over at the man with the biggest pile of gold. "Let me know if you need help with those wives, eh?" he whispered to the man. "By the looks of these two, they'd be a bit unsatisfied... more than one man can handle, you know? Only so much a man can get done in a night, after all."

Vaughn encouraged them to keep playing, but the silence continued. Suddenly, the man with the smallest pile threw his cards down, standing up to challenge Damon. "What the fuck is your problem?" Damon laughed, pointing to the cards. "Hey, Vaughn, look! He would have lost the hand. Next round of drinks on you, buddy." He turned back to the man. "We don't have a problem. Your wife might have problems walking tomorrow, though, after old mate and I are done with her. Wanna join, Vaughn?" He could feel the lightning crackle under his skin. Who would throw the first punch?

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[Vaughn]

As Damon spoke the bartender came over cautiously with the next round, and Vaughn took an ale and handed another to Damon as well. Clinking his mug against his companion's before taking another deep gulp. He knew he was drinking too much too fast, but that, coupled with the reevi from earlier and the anger he'd felt at his father, didn't much matter to him at the moment. His body felt loose and tingly.

"We don't have a problem. Your wife might have problems walking tomorrow, though, after old mate and I are done with her. Wanna join, Vaughn?"

"Next round on me," he agreed. He spoke easily. "And of course. You take his wife, and his," he said, pointing to a couple of the men, but before he could finish the first fist flew.

Vaughn ducked and the man's punch went wide. It bashed into the bartender instead, knocking whatever drinks were balanced on the tray he was carrying out of his hand. Glass and liquor clattered to the floor, breaking into pieces and making a mess, and there was a brief scuffle while everyone tried to get at everyone else's throats. "Enough!" the bartender yelled, but nobody seemed to listen. The rest of the tavern was watching now, the music having fallen to silence, and looking around they were like hungry wolves. They wanted in on the fight.

All the more strange was that Vaughn wanted them in on it. All of them. He turned and, without much preamble, grabbed a nearby man by the collar and yanked him forward until he and the man were chest to chest. One hand still gripping the man's shirt, he turned and downed the rest of his second ale, then took a deep breath and pointed with the empty mug to the little band in the corner who had stopped to watch. "Music!" he roared, and hesitantly at first and then suddenly with vigor they struck up a jaunty, angry little bar tune. "Perfect," he said, and then the man he was holding onto reared back and crashed his forehead into Vaughn's lip and nose and Vaughn saw stars.

With that the spell had been broken and the entire place fell to.

In the midst of the brawling crowd Vaughn staggered back from the impact, letting the empty mug clatter out of his hand to the floor. The entire bar was quickly thrust into a state of confusion. His feet slipped somewhat on the glass and mess, and then someone hit him from behind low in the back and he tumbled forward into a mass of wailing fists. He went down to the floor, taking a man and woman with him, and rolled out of the way of angry feet.

Somehow he managed to get under a table and he scrambled out the other side like a monkey. It looked like a couple of the men had gone after Damon and from his low vantage Vaughn rushed forward and hit one of them in the knees with his shoulder, tackling him to the ground. He ended up on top and brought his fist down twice on the man's face. Feeling his knuckles hit teeth. But before he could get another good hit in someone caught at his punching arm and dragged him backwards up to his feet. Another grabbed his other arm and pulled it behind his back.

The whole place was in on it now, fighting and laughing and clashing to the music, and Vaughn absolutely loved it. He howled like a wolf... til a third man, one of the gamblers, stepped up and hit him hard in the gut. Arms restrained, he could do nothing but spit and laugh and wheeze. He kicked out. But the man only stepped out of the way. He gave Vaughn another nasty blow to the stomach.