givessweetness | Video 8 § Drunken Castellan

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[The camera is tilted out of focus as it's picked up, dropped, picked up, fumbled and then dumped to look at the ceiling. All while this is happening, there's vague miserable muttering that's partially slurred.

Wynter is not taking to being drunk very well, so when the camera does slide to view him, he's in a mopey pile on the ground.]

I wanna go home. [A snowglobe of the Citadel appears beside him. A brief second, he reaches out and grabs the object, huddling it close.] Stupid drunk.

[OOC: Spam is available off this video if you prefer, he could be said to be anywhere and it will probably happen more than once.]

[SPAM for Needy]

[Wynter, still holding on to the snowglobe is starting to wonder if he wouldn't be better off drunker, when he sighs and wishes he had an inmate.] Then I could get out of here.

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[Seeing him on the comm is a visceral kind of shock for Iris. She has no idea who this is, but the hindbrain awareness of him is the one solid thing she's experienced since the flood drew its forgetful fog over her.

Now she sees his face and she doesn't stop to talk to him on the comm; she only hurries to where he is, without having to stop and think where that might be.]

Who the 'eck are you and 'ow do we know each other, mister?

[He looks up at her with a sullen expression, a cross between a glare and a pout in truth, and shifts.]

If you don't know who I am, maybe you shouldn't ask.

[He doesn't feel like it's today, or yesterday, so this is Perfect Logic, don't question it.]

[Wrong answer, Wynter.]

Listen, chummy, 'ow would you like a smack in the gob? Did you do this to me? Did you?

[His foot appears to want to get up but the rest of him isn't bothered, so there's barely a flick of his foot in response before he snorts in disbelief.]

Do I look like I'm in a position to do anything to you? Get lost, will you?

[Iris, conversely, is bothered all over. She judges him too drink-soggy for effective physical violence, so she doesn't hit him. She's just right in his face, bristling with barely-contained, confused aggression.]

It's not my fault you're a lightweight, sonny Jim. I want to know why you're in my 'ead!

[He shoos her away.] I'm not in your head, don't be ridiculous. [He does bother to get up now, using a nearby wall to steady himself.] I'm not a lightweight. I'm quite heavy. Actually.

[It's true. He's six-foot and covered in Gallifreyan ceremonial gear, he's bound to be quite heavy.]

[He gets up ..and up, and up. Iris is a full foot shorter than he is; this intimidates her not in the slightest.]

You bloody well are. I woke up without a clue who anyone is or what the 'eck I'm meant to be doing 'ere. But the moment I come out of that room - it's a nice room, I 'ope it's mine - I could feel you. Like an 'eadache that's not quite aching.

Well, I'm not 'aving that. It's a bloody liberty. So for the last time, buster, who the bloody 'ell d'you think you are?

You could feel me and it's my fault?

[This is injustice!]

Maybe, if you kept your brain to yourself! What is it with Ancient Entities and bullying their way into my brain and, if that weren't bad enough! You've the.. the... gall to suggest I want you there! [There's a raspberry, if admittedly ill-achieved because Wynter forgot that a tongue is essential to the manoeuvre.]

I am... I am drunk, madam. Drunk and not a drop drunken for a hundred years! I don't like it!

But you don't see me blaming you for it, do you? Ms. Never Seen Without A Drink! Even, even without my faculties, they remain enough to not go accuse people on the off-chance!

[You're very, very rude, madam.]

Now, go to the infirmary and fix yourself up and leave me alone.

[And just like that, A WILD NEEDY APPEARS!! With a cartoony-style 'pop', in the middle of the room. The sudden unexpected teleportation takes her so by surprise she loses her footing and lands squarely on her behind.

Sitting there on her hands, she looks around, not sure whether she should be freaked out or just really, really angry.]

Okay, I am so fucking sick of this constant teleportation crap. I didn't even make a fucking wish this time!

[She has yet to notice she's now wearing a bright pink t-shirt with the words "WYNTER'S INMATE!!" printed on it, surrounded by hearts and flowers.]

[Well, he knows what flowers are. Not sure on the hearts issue. There was something Iris said... but... he's a little drunk right now and she was mad at him recently, so he's not even going to bother frankly.

He does look at the words though and gives her a considering frown.]

Are you my inmate?

[This isn't a good time.]

Am I your what? [She looks down at the shirt, tugging the hemline and frowning as she reads it upside.] Oh, fuck. Aw fuck no...I didn't sign up for this!

[She gets to her feet, groaning, and once standing shoots a glower at the other.]

Did you wish for this? Is that what's happening here?

[He shook his head, frowning too, albeit in confusion.] I don't even know who you are, why would I wish for you? Just. Go away. I'm tired.

[Well, drunk, but either way, access to energy right now seem a distant possibility.]

Sounds like a plan.

[Except when she tries to get more than six or seven feet away from him, she finds out she can't leave.]

Motherfuck!

[It's very jarring, when you've seemed to solve an issue to have a yell suddenly come out of nowhere. He jumps and feels vaguely ill.]

What?

I can't -- I don't know, I can't leave! [She stamps her feet a bit and turns around, expression somewhere between scowling and pouting as she faces him again.] I guess I'm not allowed.

[Is she... is she throwing a tantrum?] Right. [He looks around. There's a seventies-chic plasticky chair nearby.] Sit there until the feeling passes, then. If you like.