Dorian watches the slight of hand (or spontaneous generation? he's not so sure) as Sweeney sits the truffle down on the table. He doesn't know why he did that, but Dorian's not going to say no. He sets his glass down and reaches for the truffle, unwrapping it slightly as the conversation goes on.
"What, you're a fighty drunk? Then we'll move out into the hallway before things get too bad. Don't worry about me, though—I can take a punch."
He pops that truffle in his mouth, noting that Sweeney still isn't drinking. Odd, that. Is he waiting for permission? "Go ahead and take a sip," Dorian casually says, talking with his mouth full.
"Don't need a drink ta fight, but I ain't a giggly drunk either." His tone is dry but casual.
There's a difference between taking a punch and breaking shit, but at least the man has some sense of taking things other places. Still, he seemed pretty keen on not dying, so avoiding violence may be the best while in each others company.
"Pacin' myself," he replies to the suggestion. Even when he's not trying to smother his thoughts, Sweeney ain't great at 'sipping'. And so he stands near the table, glass in hand.
"Go ahead and take a chug then," Dorian grins. He moves to pick up his own cup as he takes a decently sized drink of his own. The scotch burns down his throat and it feels bloody brilliant.
Fair warning given, Sweeney tips the glass back and empties it in one go, if only because he's able to hold all of the liquid at once, swallowing it easily. There's no response to the sensation of it, though he does take a moment to consider it with a tip of his head before setting the glass down on the table.
"Prob'bly why the Adm'ral ain't made ya my Warden." Because that would be an interesting day.
His chuckle is dry and precedes a roll of his eyes.
"That's just 'cause ya don't fuckin' know me from fuckin' Adam." It's not like how he's been in the last week is anything like how he actually is.
"Shit's gone sideways. I know's well as anyone how that ends. Hungry people, panicked people, folk lookin' ta make a markup off other folk's misery." He offers a vague shrug.
"Add ta that fuckin' list a horde of monsters that eat people when things get dodgy. Pays ta keep as much shit together as possible. Get ahead of the wave while shit's still dry."
"You're not wrong there," Dorian admits, with a little sigh. He hasn't seen a situation quite like this. But he knows enough to know that it's going to end up with a lot of people probably doing reckless things, especially the longer things go on.
"A part of me does wonder how long this will last. Sure, the Admiral said we'd full up at port. But how long until the next port after that?"
Sweeney shrugs and pulls a hand-rolled cigarette down from behind his ear. His presses it between his lips and speaks around it as he digs for his lighter.
"In theory? 'bout e'ery four months." He flicks the lighter open, inhales the cigarette to life, and snaps it shut. Savoring the first drag, his eyes slide along the ceiling.
"Course we both saw how the last one went, so fuck if I know."
"You saw how the last one went," Dorian corrects, as he takes another drink of his scotch. "I've only just arrived. The last nonsense I went through was that flood where people weren't exactly who they were supposed to be."
His brow furrows slightly. Had he forgotten? Is he starting to remember wrong again? Fuck, he's been doing so well.
Sweeney brushes it off. "Four months should be what's 'xpected, e'en if it don't show up. I'm hopin' ta pick up more seed the next time we're able. Maybe some dairy animals, if there's space for 'em. Ain't really my call when it comes down ta the brass tacks."
"While I won't say no to a cow if we can even find one, space is definitely going to be a problem," Dorian muses. Of course, there's another problem called 'how the hell do you take care of a cow,' but that's the veterinary staff's problem, not his!
"There's not enough space for the thing to roam. Unless we take the enclosure and just turn it permanently to cow storage," that's not the right phrase and Dorian knows it, "I've got no idea where to put it."
Sweeney listens, his expression deadpan. "Lotta animals make milk." Cows are quite inefficient, really.
He takes a long drag and holds it, his breath caught up as he nudges the words past, tendrils of smoke slipping with them.
"F'gured goats might work. Less space, good meat, an' they'll eat any sorta food waste." They'd still require more space than might be available, but it seems like a decent option.
"Goats have more personality than cows anyway," Dorian grins, as he finishes off his drink. Cows just...kind of stood around. Goats were bastards. Unsurprisingly, Dorian enjoys the bastard animals more.
"Then let's finish off the bottle!" Dorian says, with a grin. There's only enough for about three drinks left in there, so Dorian pours them each about one and a half. The glass is very full as he sets the bottle down.
There are plenty Irish toasts, obviously, but this doesn't seem like the proper setting. Sweeney cups the top of the glass, his palm hovering above it as his fingers rest vertically along its sides. He doesn't move to lift it.
"Do ya want somethin' general? Or ta the specifics of the day?"
He'll toast to most things, but if the man's asking, he takes that duty more seriously than the question is likely intended.
Dorian grins, raising his glass in the toast as well, before knocking a decent amount back. The scotch burns on the way down and he hisses out a noise of pleasure.
"Now this? This is good. The Admiral needs to get his shit together so we can drink like this more often."
He decides against mentioning it. The man in the larder had had a good point about the Admiral potentially cutting him off from the few things he enjoys. Still seems like Wardens shouldn't really have to deal with that bullshit.
"Well, fer some of us, I s'spect we ain't s'pposed ta have too much fun 'round here." He nods, his gaze slipping around the room for a bit more examination.
"See that? I don't get that," Dorian points out, with a little frown. "If the reason you were brought here was because your crippling alcoholism led you down the path of poor decisions, then of course you shouldn't be having this sort of fun." He holds up his glass as if that demonstrates what 'fun' he's talking about.
"But if the reason you were brought here was that your doormat personality led to the deaths of hundreds, then of course you would need to learn to take initiative. And as far as I'm concerned, deciding you want a little drink is perfect initiative."
Dorian's bedroom is odd. It's a mixture of old bones (old flooring, old furniture, wallpaper that is very early 1900s) with new innards. The rug under their feet is new, some of the books in the bookshelf are new, the house has been refurbished and reworked so that the lighting is fluorescent and electricity runs through the room. It feels like a historical house except someone keeps slipping in more and more modern details.
"I ain't here 'cause of drinkin' or doormattin'." He actually isn't sure what he did to end up here. But he does know some of his sins, and any of them would have justified it.
"F'gure I'm just gonna do what I need to ta be left ta my vices. I ain't lookin' ta rape or murder or burn the fuckin' boat down, so if the Adm'ral takes issue, he's o'erlookin' some bigger issues.
Dorian takes another sip of his scotch, thinking things over.
"You know, if we figured out why you're here and got your ass graduated, you'd be able to be left to your vices on your own terms, not on a prison ship slowly running out of supplies. I'd be happy to help—not as your warden or as your boss, just as someone who enjoys your company."
And someone who knows just how dangerous it is when things are static. When you can get in that rut of doing what you need to do just to be left alone.
Sweeney's lids close long enough for his eyes to slip up beneath them. Opening again, he looks to his cigarette, before taking a drag and returning his focus to Dorian.
"This the point where ya tell me 'bout how I can go anywhere once I check all the right boxes?"
"What you do when you check those boxes isn't my business," Dorian shrugs. "You can stay here. You can go off somewhere else. I don't give a damn about that part. The part that I give a damn about is that whatever you do when you leave, you don't regret it."
And also because though he knows that the Admiral say people can go anywhere once they graduate, all of the recent events make Dorian a little hesitant to accept the idea that it's true. They're supposed to be under the radar. How the hell would that effect graduation?
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"What, you're a fighty drunk? Then we'll move out into the hallway before things get too bad. Don't worry about me, though—I can take a punch."
He pops that truffle in his mouth, noting that Sweeney still isn't drinking. Odd, that. Is he waiting for permission? "Go ahead and take a sip," Dorian casually says, talking with his mouth full.
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There's a difference between taking a punch and breaking shit, but at least the man has some sense of taking things other places. Still, he seemed pretty keen on not dying, so avoiding violence may be the best while in each others company.
"Pacin' myself," he replies to the suggestion. Even when he's not trying to smother his thoughts, Sweeney ain't great at 'sipping'. And so he stands near the table, glass in hand.
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"I'm not one for moderation myself anyway."
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"Prob'bly why the Adm'ral ain't made ya my Warden." Because that would be an interesting day.
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"What would I even do as your warden?" he laughs. "You seem to have your shit together more than most people here!"
Come to think of it, that's a good point. Why is he an inmate anyway?
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"That's just 'cause ya don't fuckin' know me from fuckin' Adam." It's not like how he's been in the last week is anything like how he actually is.
"Shit's gone sideways. I know's well as anyone how that ends. Hungry people, panicked people, folk lookin' ta make a markup off other folk's misery." He offers a vague shrug.
"Add ta that fuckin' list a horde of monsters that eat people when things get dodgy. Pays ta keep as much shit together as possible. Get ahead of the wave while shit's still dry."
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"A part of me does wonder how long this will last. Sure, the Admiral said we'd full up at port. But how long until the next port after that?"
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"In theory? 'bout e'ery four months." He flicks the lighter open, inhales the cigarette to life, and snaps it shut. Savoring the first drag, his eyes slide along the ceiling.
"Course we both saw how the last one went, so fuck if I know."
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Sweeney brushes it off. "Four months should be what's 'xpected, e'en if it don't show up. I'm hopin' ta pick up more seed the next time we're able. Maybe some dairy animals, if there's space for 'em. Ain't really my call when it comes down ta the brass tacks."
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"There's not enough space for the thing to roam. Unless we take the enclosure and just turn it permanently to cow storage," that's not the right phrase and Dorian knows it, "I've got no idea where to put it."
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He takes a long drag and holds it, his breath caught up as he nudges the words past, tendrils of smoke slipping with them.
"F'gured goats might work. Less space, good meat, an' they'll eat any sorta food waste." They'd still require more space than might be available, but it seems like a decent option.
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"Care for round two of scotch?"
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Even with his consumption lessening, even with the decrease of his desperation...Sweeney's never going to turn down a drink if it's one he can afford.
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"What shall we toast to?"
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"Do ya want somethin' general? Or ta the specifics of the day?"
He'll toast to most things, but if the man's asking, he takes that duty more seriously than the question is likely intended.
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His fingers slide down the sides of the glass to bring it off the table, though he doesn't raise it above his chest.
"To full bottles, full purses, an' full beds. May cunts keep to their corners."
Deed done, he doesn't stand on ceremony, tipping back the glass to empty it.
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"Now this? This is good. The Admiral needs to get his shit together so we can drink like this more often."
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He decides against mentioning it. The man in the larder had had a good point about the Admiral potentially cutting him off from the few things he enjoys. Still seems like Wardens shouldn't really have to deal with that bullshit.
"Well, fer some of us, I s'spect we ain't s'pposed ta have too much fun 'round here." He nods, his gaze slipping around the room for a bit more examination.
"But I guess we'll see what Port looks like."
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"But if the reason you were brought here was that your doormat personality led to the deaths of hundreds, then of course you would need to learn to take initiative. And as far as I'm concerned, deciding you want a little drink is perfect initiative."
Dorian's bedroom is odd. It's a mixture of old bones (old flooring, old furniture, wallpaper that is very early 1900s) with new innards. The rug under their feet is new, some of the books in the bookshelf are new, the house has been refurbished and reworked so that the lighting is fluorescent and electricity runs through the room. It feels like a historical house except someone keeps slipping in more and more modern details.
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"F'gure I'm just gonna do what I need to ta be left ta my vices. I ain't lookin' ta rape or murder or burn the fuckin' boat down, so if the Adm'ral takes issue, he's o'erlookin' some bigger issues.
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"You know, if we figured out why you're here and got your ass graduated, you'd be able to be left to your vices on your own terms, not on a prison ship slowly running out of supplies. I'd be happy to help—not as your warden or as your boss, just as someone who enjoys your company."
And someone who knows just how dangerous it is when things are static. When you can get in that rut of doing what you need to do just to be left alone.
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Sweeney's lids close long enough for his eyes to slip up beneath them. Opening again, he looks to his cigarette, before taking a drag and returning his focus to Dorian.
"This the point where ya tell me 'bout how I can go anywhere once I check all the right boxes?"
He hates that word.
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And also because though he knows that the Admiral say people can go anywhere once they graduate, all of the recent events make Dorian a little hesitant to accept the idea that it's true. They're supposed to be under the radar. How the hell would that effect graduation?
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