entrancelogs | Running Late! [OPEN LOG]

Running Late! [OPEN LOG]

Who: Saix, Vexen, anyone who wants to harass them.
Where The Ball
When: Saturday, November 25-- about an hour, two hours after the start?
Rating: PG-13 to be SAFE.
Summary: Despite his preparations, it seems, they end up running into trouble anyway.
the Story:
Vexen hadn't exactly counted on being exactly on time-- and that was tacky anyway, since no one came in on time to parties anyway-- at least, not anyone with self-respect. Coming early has a tendency to make one look a bit too desperate for company.

Not that he doesn't already have some of his own, even if it doesn't exactly have a choice about it.

The scientist isn't sure what delayed them, but somehow, someway, it's probably Saix's fault.

[ooc: And no, they don't know Luxord's back yet. :D

edit: this should be subtitled the wallflower thread, because seriously, it's going to end up consisting of Vexen grafting himself to the cocktail table and refusing to move for the rest of the night. XD]

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It may have something to do with the fact that Saix was either putting up a fuss about having to wear the tailcoat, or perhaps because he refused to comb his hair and inevitably forced Vexen to do it for him.

In either case, they were both ~~fashionably~~ late, and Saix was finding himself almost regretting this. Although, yes, he was... obsessively protective over Vexen, that was normal for him, and just as normal to accompany him.

People had such a habit of interpretting matters of relationships. Honestly.

"Remember not to strain yourself," Saix mutters.

In some ways, the berserker's more of a stubborn twit than all of Ansem's apprentices ever were put together. Except, of course, that Vexen wield more influence over him than Even ever did, over Braig or Dilan-- or really, anyone. It has its benefits, but sometimes he finds himself of the distinct feeling that he's handling a very... large... ~~pet~~ child.

Except, of course, one doesn't often find children walking around in dark blue waistcoats with hair brushed until it practically shines. He can be proud of that, if nothing else.

"Of course." Vexen winces faintly, waving away a cloud of flower petals that flutter his way.He's pulled his hair back into a low ponytail that leaves his bangs free, refusing to leave his face completely bare. Movement's surprisingly easy, even in this pressed, military suit; certainly it leaves him room to breathe well enough.

To be honest, he finds the ponytail a bit... interesting. It's something of a rarity to see Vexen like this, in anything besides their standard coat and how he typically combs his hair.

The incident with Yoyo doesn't exactly count, to his frame of mind.

"Good," is all he mutters, a bit hesitant to make any further conversation than that.

After all, Saix is simply there to be something of an escort. That's what he's put into his mind.

Parties always have cocktails at them, and this is, if it's any proper sort of ball, no exception at all. Something strange rings in Vexen's mind, when they step into the room, and he spends a few puzzled moments thinking about it until he realizes what it is:

He can't find any of the Organization as easily as he would have, before. The coat is distinctive, as many have commented. Now, as things are, it takes him a moment to spot even the most obvious members of the Organization, freed of their coats and unified appearance. It's almost surprisingly normal.

"Mmm." The academic keeps himself stiff-backed and wary, unwilling to meet with any of the less savory residents (to his mind) as he is. However, that doesn't stop him from taking Saix by the arm and beginning to tow him towards one of the drinks tables, loaded with beverages that seem promisingly alcoholic.

"Do you drink?" he mutters.

Once sometime ago, Saix would have relied on scents to locate others. Lately, he finds that the mansion toys with him and blocks off scents from time to time, like in the case of Luxord suddenly disappearing and similarly so with Hayner sometime ago. Not that he's concerned about the boy, of course. Either way, sight and scent are not as reliable as they once were.

A brow is raised as he is led away by the arm almost like a proper escort of sorts, though he hardly says as much. Either way, he doesn't particularly expect the question to trail out of Vexen's mouth.

"I'm not a staggering drunk, of course," Saix remarks, humor skewed. "Though I indulge when I am able."

"Excellent; that sounds ideal. Drink with me." It's a purely social thing, of course. Nothing particularly serious meant by it, but it gives Vexen something to do with his hands, as well as an excuse not to have to go anywhere-- he's keeping Saix company, although in reality, it's probably the other way around.

"Wine, or something else?" He's squinting at the selection now. He's not a particularly avid drinker either, but he likes it well enough. And he hasn't had any in some time.

"Whatever is available, of course."

The scents are strong, naturally; he's never been too fond of wine himself, though the sort of world he's from is a tad bit unsocialized, one may say. It comes as no surprise.

"Don't suppose I've really thought about it; are our bodies capable of feeling the effects of it?"

The way Vexen stiffly prowls around the table speaks of some level of connoisseurship, perhaps, the way he picks bottles up-- seemingly at random-- only to apparently reject them, setting them down one after another.

His answer to the inquiry is, therefore, mildly distracted. "It varies, I suppose. Even used to get rather spectacularly drunk quite easily, but I've found my ability to hold my drink to be much improved. Still, it's been some time since I last had alcohol, so I suppose I should be more... conservative." Maybe dying's diminished his tolerance, as ridiculous as that sounds.

The academic isn't intending to head towards full-tilt inebriation, of course, and neither does he have ulterior motives for offering the berserker a drink. It's simply rude to drink without offering anything to one's evening companion.

At last, he picks a bottle out of the selection, pushing it into Saix's hands-- along with a corkscrew. For a moment, he holds his palm to the glass, fingers nearly brushing Saix's-- then he nods, and releases it. "Here, open this-- I'll get glasses." His selection appears to be some sort of champagne, and the glass is significantly cooler to the touch when Vexen pulls away.

In some ways, ice magic can be terribly useful.

"Hmm. My original had quite a tolerence for it. I wonder how how much I've changed since then."

Well, he supposes he'll find out.

Saix pauses when the bottle is shoved into his hands, as well as the corkscrew. Of all things, though, he knows he shouldn't... stiffen faintly at the near brush. Obviously, his mind is being selective, and spotting every little thing, every little touch, at everyone's insistence.

Honestly, people.

"All right," is all he says, voice lowered to a murmur as he works the cork off for the both of them.

Vexen doesn't provide a response until he returns, glasses in hand-- it's not a terribly long distance, after all. He holds two tall, fluted glasses by their stems, one in each hand, and he shakes his head at the berserker.

"Less than you might think, perhaps. You haven't tried drinking since losing your heart, then?" He offers both of the glasses for Saix to fill up, mouth quirking faintly. "Well, I suppose this will change that soon enough."

Come to think of it, though, he doesn't think he can even recall seeing Saix eat or drink before they came to this place, although he's sure the berserker must have done so. Perhaps he simply never bothered to pay attention like he is now, giving the other man a faintly amused look as he waits.

Saix raises a brow. "Mm, you don't think so, do you? There aren't terribly big differences betwen you and Even?"

In regards to drinking: "No. Admittedly, I had much more important moments then -- and it simply carried on as such. I find I have more time to myself now than ever. It's... strange, I suppose."

He fills the glass as indicated. Mostly, Saix has been so intensely private before that now... he's allowing vulnerabilities, gradually, as he stays. It may be good or bad, but either way, he's begun to stop hiding some matters to Vexen -- whether or not it's related to him as his master.

"There are a number," Vexen acknowledges-- when one glass is full, he switches it in for the other, the liquid sparkling and gurgling as it rises to the brim. "But there are certain things that remain the same, heart or no."

He says nothing more until the second glass is filled; once it's brimming with the liquor, he offers it to the berserker, holding it by its stem as gravely as one might some sort of flower. "Perhaps a toast would be appropriate, then."

"That is true," he admits quietly. For all that is different, he knows that he's still, in many ways, still his old self. The more things change, the more they truly stay the same.

Saix tilts his head curiously. "To what?"

"To our hearts? To ourselves? To a new life?" Vexen shrugs blase as he ever is. "Anything you deem appropriate, I suppose."

"Hm."

There could be things to bless. There are several matters he could address and want to toast to.

Instead, he simply asks, "What would you call appropriate?"

For a moment, Vexen considers the question.

After a moment, he snorts, pushing the glass forward into Saix's hand. "Do you know, I haven't the faintest idea-- I suppose I'm grateful enough for what I have." He shakes his head. "Although there's a few more things I could have wished for. To the future, then." He cants his glass towards the berserker. "May it bring brighter things to both-- no, to all of us."

He's thinking, primarily, of the Organization.

He takes the glass, smiling faintly. "Hrm. I suppose the works for me."

Gently, he leans the glass forward, lightly clinking it against Vexen's. "For the future, then. Perhaps ... now is very appropriate to begin again for us."

Vexen merely nods, echoing Saix's words as he lets his glass clink faintly back. "For the future, yes." Not just theirs, he supposes, but everyone of the Organization's.

It's not very often one gets a second chance to hit the reset button, as it were. If there's any further expression on his face, the glass he tips up to his lips more than succeeds to disguise it.

The toast is made and it, in a way, seals the decision to begin anew and press on from there. Hearts will be had, eventually. Just not quite the way they had intended.

In the meantime, as they spend it in mild conversation and with drinks, he mentally checks off what differences he can remember having in contrast with his original. It all rounds back to the liquor and how it effects him, and he's fairly certain that Ais had once enjoyed himself with it from time to time, and his first master was lenient.

Saix agrees with his original -- that, and he supposes, alcohol is more than appropriate for all that's happened.

What he doesn't intend for is how he feels a bit, one may call it, 'tipsy'. It doesn't cause him to become enraged or particularly goofy, but it relaxes him and makes him tired. He can hold himself up enough, at the very least, though eventually at this they agree it's time to return to their room.

Saix mostly undresses for bed, though he may have forgotten about the slacks, undershirt, and ridiculous bowtie.

Besides, Vexen has more to handle: a particularly... snuggly Saix, attempting to be sensitive about the ribs while still placing his arms rather comfortably around the academic before his body agrees to sleep.

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Running Late! [OPEN LOG]

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